


The Truth: Interludes

by Seasider



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Humor, If you look closely, Not Treated Seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasider/pseuds/Seasider
Summary: Ficlets that fit into “The Truth” universe, written by me and talented guest authors, some  of them written years ago. I haven’t been able to contact all the guest authors, so if any of them see this and don’t want their ficlets posted, let me know and I’ll remove immediately. I’ll post them chronologically as they fit into the story and will be adding NEW chapters!
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 56
Kudos: 118





	1. Jovay Tells Vader

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlets are always greatly welcomed! If you have an idea or scene you’d like to write, let me know! You can also PM me on FFN (pseud is MJ Mink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One fits after The Truth, Part One Chapter 6. Luke's blood test revealed his identity to the Imperials, now it's Lieutenant Jovay’s duty to warn Darth Vader.  
> (By Seasider)

—-

"This is most irregular," said the man who had identified himself on the com as Captain Piett.

"It's urgent and personal," replied the lieutenant. "And an emergency. I'm Karas Jovay, the recruiter in Mos Eisley on Tatooine. Please tell him."

"Very well." The tone said, it's your career—or your life—on the line.

Jovay tapped his fingers on the desktop, blowing off bits of sand while he waited. He hoped it wouldn't take too—

"Lieutenant Jovay." The echoing voice made familiar on holonews channels, and occasionally in person, startled him.

"Lord Vader, forgive my—"

"Forgo the pleasantries. What is so urgent?"

He drew a breath. "A boy—youth—came in today, wanting to enlist. First he gave a fake name—"

Vader sighed deeply. "Get to the point."

He took a long inhalation, hoping to get out all the pertinent information before Vader grew more impatient. "He said Luke Lars then he asked me to check Luke Vader because his guardians compared him to you then I told him to get a blood test and he did and it just came back over the secure channel that his father was a Jedi named Anakin Skywalker." He gasped for air.

The silence was electric.

"The mother listed as Padme Naberrie," he added belatedly. "I thought you...would want to know."

He was willing to bet there weren't many people in the galaxy who knew Lord Vader's previous identity, and he'd never known if that made him safe from or a menace to the Dark Lord.

"How old?"

"Fifteen, milord." He fidgeted with a clip from his desk drawer, uncertain what to do in the extended silence that lasted for at least a full minute. Should he speak or should—

"Who is the garrison commander?"

"Uh...Trentin Weaway, he's—"

 _"You_ are acting commander now," Vader ordered. "Weapons on stun—not to be used unless unavoidable. I don't want him injured."

"Very well, milor—"

"In fact," Vader said slowly, "I don't want him captured. I wish to see what he does. Who are his guardians?"

"A couple named Owen and Beru Lars, moisture farm—"

"I know who they are. They are to be removed in any way necessary. I do not want the boy to have a retreat."

"Removed, milord?" Finally he was able to complete an entire sentence, albeit a very short one.

"Eliminated," Vader clarified. "Report to me any contacts with the boy. I will deal with him myself at some point."

"Yes, milord."

"You did well to tell me." Another pause punctuated by rhythmic breathing. "What...is the boy's name?"

"Luke, milord."

Another pause, then the com was disconnected.

All in all, Jovay thought that went well. No eruption of temper, no long distance choking. He stood and drew his blaster, setting it to stun. And no unnecessary chances to be taken.

He headed out the door to take over command. Weaway would be furious. But who knows, maybe a promotion would be coming down the line. He shouldn't have been sent to the career graveyard of an Outer Rim planet...not for one tiny barely discernible lapse in judgement that hadn't hurt anyone but himself.

That was the last mistake he'd ever make.

Right….


	2. A Disruptive Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coincides with Part Two, Chapter One, of The Truth (Ao3)
> 
> Coincides with Chapter 12 of The Truth (FFN)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by “Spirit” in 2006. Thank you, Spirit!

"My Lord," a stormtrooper spoke through his tinny-sounding vocoder. "He's up there."

Vader turned to look, concentrating on making his helmet's lenses zoom in on the building that the stormtrooper indicated. It was two-stories high and domed. Crouched at the top, illuminated slightly by the city lights, was the thin, cloaked figure that he'd come to Tatooine to watch.

His hood was down, exposing the boy's hair, which was, Vader noted with consternation, a bright shade of blue. Vader turned his body slightly, focusing more on the figure, noting the good balance on the domed roof. Noting, also, the faint speck of light near the figure's mouth.

When a hand reached from the folds of the cloak and up to the mouth, Vader realized what the light was. It moved with the hand and, faintly, Vader could see a thin stream of smoke expel from the boy's mouth. Vader seethed.

_Spice_ , he thought angrily. _My son is using spice._

"My lord," the trooper spoke again, catching Vader's attention. Angrily, Vader turned his head, preparing to light into the trooper. "We think he uses Jedi powers," the trooper continued, and Vader stilled.

"Already?" he demanded, turning again to stare at the figure on the roof.

"Yes, my lord," the trooper repeated. "He does things that no ordinary child can do."

"Like what?" Vader rumbled, his mind racing.

"He's made things...float," the trooper said, almost reluctantly. "Made things fly."

"Indeed," Vader said slowly, focusing on the child - his child - on the roof. "Indeed." Wanting to take a closer look, Vader used the Force to enhance his own vision, and saw for the first time his son's features. Thin, but with a remaining roundness that suggested that, when fully developed and with an adequate diet, his jaw would be strong and his cheeks boyish. As it was, he looked unhealthy and pale - like a spice addict. Vader felt another surge of anger. Of all the vices...

"Here is the information we've been able to collect," the trooper said, offering a datapad to Vader, who accepted and began to study it. It started out with Luke's name, followed by his guardians' names. They were dead, Vader remembered. He'd ordered his troopers to kill them. Luke Skywalker, Owen and Beru Lars. Age: (sixteen?). It continued with his height, his approximate weight, hair color, and eye color. Below that was a list detailing his education. Vader scanned rapidly. The results weren't good. Luke Lars, as he was called, was described as a disruptive child from the very beginning. On his first day of school, he'd screamed at the teacher and hit another child and, when punished, he had promptly burst into tears and run away. Teachers expressed concern that Luke's upbringing wasn't up to par. An small investigation was begun, yielding no results except a very furious guardian.

As the years progressed and Luke's behavior deteriorated, his school teachers tried any and all methods of helping him, punishing him, and trying to get him to open up. Instead of confessing what bothered him, Luke would scream and yell and cry. He didn't make a solid friend until he was almost eleven years old, when he befriended Laze Loneozner. The pair of them started drinking alcohol by the time they were twelve and skipping school in earnest just a few weeks later. His already dismal marks declined even further. The pair of them were later joined by two more children, whose names were not listed. At the age of fourteen, a teacher caught Luke and Loneozner smoking spice. The punishment was swift and fierce, but instead of causing Luke to abandon the drug, he merely shrank even further away from authority. By the time he was fifteen, he spent most of his time either drunk or high, and by the time his guardians were killed, the school hadn't seen or heard from Luke in almost two weeks.

Despite that, as Vader scanned the listed marks he realized that on every test of mathematics and engineering, Luke had scored at least a ninety. On tests of history and politics, his failures were spectacular. Obviously, Vader mused, his son was not as unintelligent as he liked people to think. The subjects he didn't need to study, he aced easily. His dismal grades stemmed mostly from not attending school at all.

Teacher notes spoke of an unhappy, frightened child, and an angry, disruptive teen. Had the Lars couple been harmful? Considering, Vader glanced up at the figure on the roof, watching as the boy let the spice stick fall. His stomped on it, grinding his boot heel into the butt of the stick, then stood there, seeming to stare out over the Wastes, arms folded as if deliberating. No, Vader thought. Something else happened when he was a child. He wasn't harmed physically. Emotionally, perhaps. Maybe even psychologically.

Something bad happened, though, he mused. Something bad enough to make a five-year-old child lash out defensively at everything around him. Something horrible enough to have repercussions reaching years into the future.

"We've discovered what he's been doing lately, my Lord," the same trooper said tentatively. "He's joined a band of street kids. We've discovered their hideout, and are ready to move when you give the order."

"What does he go by?" Vader demanded.

"Pardon, my Lord?" the trooper asked, startled.

"His name," Vader said. "What do the other children call him?" There was a barely imperceptible pause in the trooper's words, and a faint sense of surprise trickled through the Force from the trooper's direction.

"Oz," the trooper said. "The children call him Oz."

_ Oz. _

"We questioned his neighbors and close friends," the trooper went on. "Specifically, one Laze Loneozner. Nothing resulted from the interrogation, but we later discovered that Skywalker uses an ID with Loneozner's name. We are unsure at this time if it was given willingly, or if he stole it."

"It does not matter," Vader said. "Leave this Loneozner alone. He has had no contact with the boy for months."

"Yes, my Lord," the trooper said smartly, then took a step back. His breath hissing through his respirator, Vader looked up at the youngster once more, just in time to see him turn and stride off the roof nonchalantly. He simply walked off, as if treading down a step. A trickle through the Force alerted Vader to its use, and he smiled behind his mask.

"Surround the children's hideout," he ordered, turning abruptly. "But do not harm them. Alert Family Services. I want the boy unharmed."

"Yes, Lord Vader," the squad chorused, and immediately moved away to converse. Vader turned to glance once more at the now empty roof.

_Soon,_ he thought to himself. _Soon, I will have you, Oz. Or should I say, my son... Luke Skywalker._


	3. Spicer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Piett considers the boy on his bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fits into The Truth: Part 3 between chapters 9 and 10 (Ao3)  
> And between chapters 29 and 30 on FFN  
> Thank you to guest author SPIRIT!

**Spicer**

**by Spirit**

Captain Piett hadn't met a young man like Luke Skywalker since he'd been a mere boy on Axxila, studying hard to be accepted into the Imperial Academy. A drinker and a drug addict, the boy that Piett remembered had swiftly ruined himself, pushing away any help that was offered.

What virtues this one had, Piett had no idea.

Of course, he might just be biased right now – he was, after all, staring at a gaping hole in the heating ducts on his beloved ship – but he didn't think so.

It took a lot of effort, but he managed to school the look of fury from his face and replace it with a sternly expressionless one. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded, but it was the effort that counted.

 _Why_ , he wondered to himself, _is this child here aboard my ship?_

A glance at Vader reminded him once more. Right. _Force user,_ he thought grimly. Why in the galaxy the Emperor wanted this particular boy…Piett had no idea, and had the odd feeling he wasn't meant to. So he rigidly suppressed his irritation enough to lead the little spicer to the detention level, feeling a brief flash of satisfaction at that. It died a quick death, though, because just before the secure hatch closed, Piett glimpsed the mulish expression fade from that youthful face, replaced with an expression of abject misery and confusion.

He got the feeling that not even Luke knew why he was here.

The next time Piett saw the boy he was dressed in a strange outfit that Piett dimly remembered from Republic days – a uniform of black and brown with an odd sort of wrap around the torso. He was standing beside Lord Vader with a sullen expression that periodically flickered with anxiety and indecision, augmented by the jerky movements and an unknowing wrinkling of the Lord Vader's cloak. Piett had to pinch his lips together to make them stop twitching as the pair stopped beside him, Vader's hand reaching down to pry the boy's fingers off.

"My lord," Piett greeted, nodding his head respectfully. "Luke," he added, giving the boy a tight smile.

"Hi, Cap," Luke replied, smiling back. Piett quelled the urge to grin broadly, feeling like a teenager again. He glanced up at Lord Vader, seeing him staring down at the boy with what looked like a glare under his mask. Luke seemed to feel the look, because he shrank a little and uneasiness crept into his eyes, and Piett observed as his hand automatically reached out to grasp the black cloak again as Vader nodded in reply to Piett's greeting and started to move off. An Ensign coughed, and Piett shot him a sharp look, seeing the young man struggling to hide an amused smile.

For several moments, Piett observed that the boy seemed to be genuinely trying to behave. He struggled a little bit, and Piett could see him longing to say something, but the only time he did was when someone greeted him with words.

Then it all went downhill.

With alarm, Piett saw the boy step away from Vader's side and examine a small button on one of the empty consoles. His alarm grew when Luke lifted a hand, and he stepped forward quickly.

"My lord – " he started, but it was too late, and Piett saw the finger push the button down.

Instantly, an alarm echoed through the bridge, and various tiny holes in the wall appeared, their lids sliding away from them. A moment later, decontam foam was spilling from the holes, and emergency masks were falling from the ceiling.

Instinctively, Piett grabbed one and yanked the strap over his head, feeling the effects of the decontam foam immediately. The rest of the crew followed suit…except – Piett stilled in alarm – Luke.

The boy was looking around him in shock, one hand flailing out to his side as his balance went off kilter from the effects. In two quick strides, Piett yanked another mask from its string and arrived at the boy's side, quickly shoving the mask into place on his face. A moment later, an Ensign turned off the klaxon and a ringing silence fell.

"Whoops."

Piett had to close his eyes against an involuntary laugh, one hand still grasping the boy's shoulder, the other pressing the mask over Luke's mouth, feeling the vibrations of the word. A moment later, a loud noise filled the silence…a sort of gurgling grumble…and Piett really did grin this time behind his mask.

Luke's stomach had growled.

His face flushed immediately behind the mask, and he tilted his head back to give Piett an embarrassed shrug, and then a black-gloved hand fastened around his upper arm and yanked him backwards.

"What," Vader asked slowly, his voice an ominous rumble, "part of 'Do everything I say' don't you understand?"

"I _did_ everything you said!" Luke said indignantly, and then added, after a heartbeat, "I just did a little extra, as well."

As they spoke, Piett saw out of the corner of his eye as the maintenance crew swiftly cleaned up the decontam foam and spraying air-cleaner around the bridge. Within moments, the air was clean. He turned back to see Luke wrinkling the cloak again.

"You," Vader snarled, pointing a finger at the teenager, "are reckless. Come." The black-armored man turned abruptly, striding away. Luke gave Piett a desolate look, and pulled off his mask to follow.

"Thanks, Cap," he said quietly, and hurried away. "Hey, wait," he called. "Ah – sir! Waaaii-aaaiiiit!"

Lord Vader ignored him, his dark cloak billowing out behind him in a swirl of dark cloud, perfectly pressed and spotless.

Except, Piett noticed, one edge, which was badly crumpled, as if a young hand had wrinkled it between the fingers for too long.

Piett had to turn away in his struggle to contain his smile.


	4. A Certain Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s it like to be Darth Vader? A curious son wants to know.  
> Super-crack!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fits after The Truth, Part Four, Chapter 1  
> Thanks to guest author JEDINEMO !

A Certain Point of View

by jedinemo

"Da-aad," Luke called as he entered his father's quarters. "Oh, Da-aad."

There was no response from within the room. He looked at his chrono. Wow, for once he had managed to get himself out of bed so that he was actually early to one of their father-son lessons. Must be because it was going to be a flying lesson.

He tried one more time. "Dad?"

"Luke," he heard his father say, but the sound was muffled. He walked towards the back of the room, following his father's voice. Once he got in the vicinity of the 'fresher he could hear the sound of the sonic shower.

"Are you in there, Dad?" he said.

"I'll be out shortly," his father said. "Work on your navigation exercises. And don't touch anything."

He wrinkled his nose, and mumbled under his breath.  _ "And don't touch anything." _

"Sure thing," he said for his father's benefit.

He returned to the living area and plopped himself down on the couch, which was black with silver trim, just like all the other furnishings in the room. He sighed. This must be one of those lessons in patience that his father was always trying to teach him. Hmmm, if the real lesson was patience, then maybe he didn't have to work on his hyperspace calculations, he just had to keep himself out of trouble for a little while. That shouldn't be too hard.

He'd never had a chance to be in his father's room before without dear old dad looming over him. He got up and wandered over to the desk in the corner. Besides the datapad and a report titled "Insurgent Activity in the Outer Rim", there wasn't much there. Pretty boring. He pulled open a drawer and his breath caught when it made a scraping noise. He froze, and was relieved when he still heard the sound of the shower coming from the 'fresher.

The interior of the drawer was mostly empty, except for a snowglobe like the ones sold at every tourist spot in the Galaxy. He picked it up carefully. Inside were ornate buildings unlike any he had ever seen before. At the bottom it said only "Theed". He shook it to see the fake snow swirl all around the buildings of Theed, wherever that was. Maybe he would look it up on a starchart someday. He returned it to the drawer, which he shut very slooowly to make sure it didn't make a sound.

He looked around the room. Nothing much else to see, not even any pictures, unless he counted the production images from Kuat Drive Yards. Maybe he was going to have to just sit down and work on his calculations after all. He was headed back to the couch when a thought struck him. Wait a minute. If his father was in the 'fresher, then the armored suit must not be on his father.

He tiptoed back towards the 'fresher and peered into its anteroom. Sure enough, the pieces that made up the suit were laid neatly on the counter. The lenses of the helmet glared up at him as he reached forward, but he couldn't resist touching the suit. The leather felt soft and flexible under his fingertips, making him wonder what it would be like to wear it.

He chewed his lip. What would it hurt if he tried it on for a few minutes? Hadn't he always wanted to know what it was like to be his dad?

He pulled the padded pants silently off the counter and slipped them on. Even over his own clothing they were loose, and his feet didn't even show at the ends of the legs. Hmmm, he wouldn't be able to walk with the pants like this. He pulled up each pant leg in turn and removed his own shoes, then put on the tall boots, stuffing the excess fabric inside of them.

There, that was better. Except that the waist was so loose it was going to fall down if he moved much at all. Well, that was what the belt was for, wasn't it ? He picked it off the counter and clipped it on. This was feeling not too bad, not bad at all. He looked cautiously at the door that led into the 'fresher, but the frequency of the sonic vibrations was unchanged.

He pulled the top half of the suit over his head, mouthing a silent "Oww!" as the electronic box on the front clunked him on the forehead and something else whacked him on the back as it went down. He looked at the remaining pieces on the counter and tried to think of how everything looked when it was on his father. He put on the tabards, and refastened the belt around them. As he clipped the shinguards over the boots and swung the breastplate onto his shoulders, he kept thinking he'd have to get up a whole lot earlier in the morning if he had to put all of this on every day.

He brought the collar piece over his head and felt the lining snug up against his neck. Next he slipped on the gloves. That left only the helmet. He stared at it for a moment, and it stared back. This was it. One last piece of armor to put on and then he'd look just like his dad. Too bad there weren't any mirrors around so that he could see himself.

He guided the helmet carefully over his head, but it wouldn't go down all the way. He tried to press it on further, but it hit against the neck piece. He grabbed the helmet on either side and twisted it back and forth and then all of sudden it clicked into place. His breath echoed inside the mask and he realized he couldn't see anything. At all.

He tried to take the helmet off, but whatever he had done, it was now securely locked in place. His face felt flushed and a sense of panic crept in. No matter how hard he pulled, the helmet wouldn't budge. He spun around in the darkness and crashed into the counter. The belt began to hum at his waist, followed by the electronic box on his chest, and then whatever was on his back started to warm up, too. A blast of air hit him in the face, making him yell in surprise.

"Luke!" his father said. "What's going on out there?"

"Nothing," he said, except that it didn't sound like him at all, but almost like his dad.

"Are you wearing my helmet?" Vader asked.

"No," he said, his new voice giving him away immediately. "Yes."

"Well, take it off," his father demanded.

"I can't," he said. "It's stuck. Can you come help me?"

"I thought I told you not to touch anything!" his father said.

"I'm sorry," he said. " Please help me take it off."

"I can't," his father said. "You will have to figure it out yourself. Remember to twist as you pull up."

"I already tried that," he said. "Why can't you help me?"

"I need pressurized air to breathe," his father said. "And if you are wearing the helmet, then I have to stay in here."

Oh. He hadn't thought of that. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"You will have to find Captain Piett," his father said. "He has helped me on occasion when the helmet has been stubborn."

He sighed. At least he didn't feel so hot anymore, not with the suit blowing air in his face all the time. And he could see something now. It was not exactly like seeing with his own eyes, but more like looking at a vid screen. He started to walk out of the room but crashed into the wall.

"Oops," he said, correcting his path.

"Are you going?" Vader said.

"Yes, Dad," he replied.

"And hurry up," his father said. "I have work to do. I can't stay in here all day."

"On my way," he said, starting to get the hang of walking while looking at the helmet lenses. It was almost like playing one of those vid games that his dad hated so much.

With only a few changes in direction he was able to make it to the front door of his father's quarters. As he walked down the corridor he noticed that he was able to change the display in the helmet by blinking rapidly. He could make it zoom in, or change the contrast, or have it show all kinds of data, like the temperature. Pretty cool.

He also noticed that the crew members in the hallway kept far away from him. All he had to do was turn his head towards any one of them and their eyes dropped to the floor. Was this what it was like every day for his dad? To know everyone was completely afraid of him? That seemed so lonely. Surely his father couldn't enjoy that.

Just ahead of him a technician in a flight suit was walking towards him, body glued to the wall to keep maximum distance between them.

"Hi," he said, giving the technician a friendly wave.

The technician's eyes became very large and his mouth fell open, right before he broke into a sprint down the hallway. Not exactly the effect he was going for.

As he continued down the corridor, he heard several voices engaged in strong discussion, something about tactical maneuvers against the Rebellion. He paused outside the door to listen, then hit the control button. Every crew member inside froze as he entered the room, even the grey haired officer that stood at the front, his pointer stuck against the display screen.

"Good job, men," he said. "Keep it up."

There was a clatter as the officer's pointer fell to the floor, but that was the only sound for several moments.

"Thank you, Lord Vader," the officer said, finally recovering enough to speak.

Now that was more like it. He spun on his heel and headed for the elevator that would take him to the bridge, and hopefully to Captain Piett. When the elevator doors opened, a crush of crew members started to spill out, but they all stopped when they saw him.

"Good day to you," he said in his almost Vader voice.

The crew members looked at each other, and then someone in the back answered, "Good day to you, m'lord."

Some of them even smiled when they exited the elevator. Much better than the reaction he had been getting earlier. Just think of all the improvements he could make if he had enough time.

The elevator stopped at the top level, opening onto the bridge. He strode out in his best imitation of his father, though walking fast made the armored breastplate teeter back and forth over his shoulders. To his relief, Captain Piett stood at the front of the bridge.

The captain turned his eyes to him and a deep furrow appeared in his forehead. Piett clasped his hands behind his back and walked towards him slowly.

"Aren't you a little short for a Dark Lord?" Piett said.

"No, it's me. Luke," he said.

The captain threw his hand over the mouthpiece of the mask and looked quickly around the bridge. "Ssshhh."

"I need your help," he said through Piett's fingers.

Piett removed his hand. "Keep it down. And where is Lord Vader?"

"He's, uh, in the 'fresher until I can get the helmet off. But it's stuck," he explained.

Piett coughed and then suppressed a smile that threatened to break loose. "Well, then we had better hurry, hadn't we?"

————

Through the projection on the lenses he could see Piett's hands reaching forward and then he felt the helmet twist sharply. It was dark for a moment, but then the helmet slipped over his head and he found himself blinking in the light.

"Thanks," he said, surprised to hear his own voice again. "It feels good to take that off."

"You have successfully removed the helmet, Piett?" Vader said from within the shower.

"Yes, m'lord," Piett said. "The boy had it on there pretty tight."

"Then you may return to the bridge," Vader said. "Luke, apologize to Captain Piett for disrupting his duties."

He looked into Piett's face. "Sorry, Captain."

Piett nodded in acceptance before turning around and heading out of the cabin.

"Now put everything back exactly how you found it," Vader said. "And don't touch anything else."

"Are we still going flying?" he asked hopefully.

"And why should I reward you after this?" Vader said.

"Because I helped you out," he said, pulling the neck piece and the breastplate over his head.

"What do you mean?" his father said.

"You'll see," he said as unclipped the belt and slid off the tabards.

"First we will see if you are able to follow instructions," Vader said. "Go sit down and wait for me."

He finished sliding off the boots and the pants and arranged all the other pieces of the suit carefully on the counter.

"All yours," he called through the 'fresher door.

He walked back to the couch and laid down, remembering to keep his shoes off the cushions. He heard the 'fresher door slide open, followed by rustling noises and then the sound of the door shutting. When the ventilator started up and he heard the door open again, he sat up quickly and put his feet on the floor. At the sound of his father's footsteps, he squared his shoulders back and clasped his hands in his lap.

His father appeared in front of him. "What possessed you to put on my armor?"

He stood up and looked his father right in the lenses. "I wanted to know what it felt like to be you."

Vader didn't answer.

He looked away from his father. "It was a lot harder than I thought it would be."

After a moment he felt his father's hand on top of his shoulder. "We'd better hurry if we're still going to have flight time," Vader said.

As they walked out of the cabin into the corridor, a passing lieutenant waved at them.

"Good day to you, Lord Vader," the officer said.

The black helmet silently tracked the lieutenant's progress down the hall. His father then turned to him. "What exactly did you do on your way to find Piett?"

He grinned. "Nothing much. Just a little P.R."

\- - - End - - -


	5. Fabulous!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke decides to boost morale aboard the Devastator by livening up their ‘social evening’. His first foray into fashion.... Super-crack!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fits after The Truth, Part Four, Chapter 2  
> Based on a Kenya Starflight's suggestion for a Challenge Fic to the Luke-Vader Writers list on Yahoo Groups 2006: Luke or Vader must wear a dress and contain the phrase "I can't wait to see what (insert name here) is wearing!".

"A 'social evening'?" Luke repeated. "Great! We had those in Anchorhead a couple times a year. Games, dancing—but how do you do it here? I mean, with all these guys and no girls?"

The black helmet turned slowly toward him. Vader was silent for several seconds, causing Luke to squirm, then he sighed. "Go study," he repeated wearily, like he'd had a long hard day.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Fine! Don't answer my questions, who cares? I don't know how I'm supposed to learn anything when you won't answer my questions!"

Naturally, his father didn't reply. With a final glare, Luke stomped out of Vader's quarters. Captain Piett was hovering in the corridor.

"Luke!" he exclaimed, startled for no good reason that Luke could see. "Are you all ri-- I mean, what're you— Hello."

"Hi," he replied glumly, then tilted his head to look at the Imperial officer. "Are you going to the dance tonight?"

"Dance?" Piett repeated.

"The social evening, remember?" he reminded. "Who do guys dance with when there are no girls around? Each other?"

"Well…." Piett was staring, his mouth hanging open in an unbecoming manner. He must have realized that, because he snapped it closed. "I don't believe we've ever—"

"And what do you wear?" Luke continued. "Do, like, half the guys wear dresses and pretend to be girls?" He looked expectantly at the captain. "Hah! You didn't figure that part out, did you? Good thing somebody is thinking ahead! I'll bet the replicator can make dresses. I have to get to work if there's gonna be enough dresses by tonight!"

He hurried off, not caring that the captain didn't bother to answer him. He was so used to that from adults.

It was lucky that he was handy with machinery, otherwise reprogramming the replicator might have been a chore. It wasn't too hard to get it to make skirts instead of pants. There was just that one tiny problem that worried him... when he'd answered 'yes' to 'set global', was it just for this job… or did that mean he'd reset all the replicators on the ship? Oh, surely not, who would invent a computer that stupid?

"Okay, let's give it a try. For me... let's match my eyes." He programmed in 'silk' and 'blue' and, for good measure, added 'handsome' so he wouldn't get ruffles. Then he began entering selections for more dresses, varying the lengths and widths so they'd fit different bodies. Not that he had time to make them for everyone— not even a gazillionth of the guys on the ship would have them, but maybe he could make enough for the officers.

And, for the heck of it, he set the replicator to make a really, really big black gown for his dad.

Then he settled back on his bed, fingers interlaced behind his head, waiting to see what the replicator would send up.

All that work had worn him out, so it wasn't surprising that he fell asleep. An annoyingly persistent buzz woke him. He stood, staggered over to his desk and slapped the intercom switch. "This better be good!"

"You are late for your trigonometry review," a voice scolded.

Luke grimaced. "Uh... I've been busy, Dad, I didn't get a chance to study trig— but I've been working on language and— and programming!" he added quickly, lest his dad think he was lazy. "I wasn't being dilatory or indolent!"

"I have instructed you many times about my expectations with regard to—"

"I know! But I worked hard on programming." Time for a subject change. "Hey, what're you wearing to the dance tonight? I made something for you."

There was that annoying silence again. But after a few seconds, Vader said, "I do not attend social evenings. It would not be appropriate. It is a time for the men to participate in games of chance, view approved Holonet broadcasts, and otherwise squander valuable time with absurdities and hedonistic over-indulgences."

"Huh. Sounds like a blast." That was disappointing, but maybe his dad could wear the dress for another party some day. "But I can go, right?"

"Certainly not!" his father huffed. "You are not a member of the ship's complement! There would be too many questions about your identity and purpose."

"Okay," he murmured meekly. "I guess I'll just stay in and study trig tonight. May I take the test tomorrow, please, sir?"

"I will allow that— this time," Vader said, sounding like he was doing Luke a big favor. "Good evening to you."

"Bye!" Luke said brightly, snapping off the intercom and hurrying toward the delivery chute. Time to see how the replicator had performed!

 **OooOoo**

Luke stripped off his shirt and pulled the gown over his head, struggling to get his arms in the sleeves without having to unhook the top. He turned in a circle, holding the skirt out, and stopped in front of the mirror. He looked great! It wasn't real silk, just some synthetic, but the dress looked a lot like the ones the senators wore in vids. Even in the very old vids, when Palpy wasn't so ugly and he was Chancellor. Maybe the fabric wasn't as fancy as rich people wore, but it was good enough for the ship's dance.

The other dresses were heaped on his bed, bright colors spilling onto the floor like hair dye. If he had blue dye he could color his hair to match the dress. The thought made him homesick for Mos Eisley, but only for a second. Luke thumbed the com. "Captain Piett, please. Luke calling."

He must look even better than he'd thought because when the officer arrived, Cap couldn't stop staring at him.

"You're not serious," Piett said. Then he added uncertainly: "Are you?"

"Duh, yes!" Luke exclaimed. "It took longer than I thought. I only had time to make a few dozen, so you decide who should wear them. This one," he pawed through the pile of dresses until he found the gold and green satin, "I made specially for you!"

"Thank you," the captain said weakly, not accepting the dress until Luke pushed it against his chest. He barely looked at it. "Your hard work is appreciated. However, I really don't believe that Lord Vader would approve of—"

"Are you kidding?" Luke countered, deciding he needed to fib a little—just to be encouraging. "Look at this! This is his!" He waved the huge black gown like a flag.

Piett took a step backward, his eyes widening with what appeared to be dismay. "Lord Vader is going to wear a— a dress?"

"It's not a dress, it's a copy of an old Senatorial robe," he said with offended dignity. "Take yours, for example. Those are the governmental colors of— of Kashyyk."

"They are?" Piett asked doubtfully.

Luke nodded. Since he'd already fibbed once, a few more wouldn't matter. "Yeah. You'd better go get ready. And find some guys to wear the other dr— robes. Can you carry them all yourself?" He piled them over the captain's arms, hastily throwing the black one back on his bed.

"I'll... manage, thank you, Luke." Piett left, his arms loaded, trailing dresses behind him. He had that bantha-in-the-laser-sight look, but that was probably because he'd never seen such wonderful clothes before.

"Guess they don't have socials all that often," Luke mused, and vowed to encourage his father to allow more of them. But that was for later. Right now, he had to finish getting ready. He didn't want to be late for all the excitement!

Well, 5-West wasn't the best place for a party—it was all gray durasteel—but no one had consulted Luke about how to throw a great party. After tonight, though, they'd be sure to ask him, and he was certain he could think up amazing party stuff.

"Is this fabulous or what?" an older lieutenant exclaimed as he spun, flame-red chiffon swirling. "I love the way it feels against my bare legs."

The officers clustered around him nodded. "Fabulous! Why didn't I get a costume?" someone complained.

"I can't wait to see what Lord Vader is wearing!" another lieutenant whispered loudly.

"I hear it's black."

"Of course!"

"Can you imagine if INN got hold of a holo of that?"

"We could sell it for a fortune."

"Somebody get a holocam!"

The group of men dissolved into laughter that they struggled to stifle when Piett appeared.

"Gentlemen."

"Hi, Cap!" Luke said happily. "You look great, except… well, I dunno about the cap, Cap."

"I felt I should remain at least partly in uniform," Piett said seriously, touching the brim of his Imperial-issue military cap.

"The blaster strapped around your waist doesn't really go either." Luke forced the frown off his face. "It's getting the fabric all wrinkly."

Piett looked down, tugging the material loose from his belt. "Better?"

Luke nodded, then looked across the crowded lounge. "Oh-oh."

The captain's eyes widened with alarm, which seemed an extreme response to such a small sound. "What?" he demanded. "It's not Lord— Oh."

Three officers were paused in the doorway, all clad in their everyday Imperial gray, except… the pants were now skirts. "Kinda gives new meaning to 'dress uniform', doesn't it?" Luke grinned widely.

"Oh, my stars, those are our new uniforms?" The older lieutenant gestured for the newcomers to join them. "Where did you get those? They're fabulous!"

"Fabulous!" Luke echoed.

A blond officer shrugged. "This is what arrived when I ordered a new uniform. It wasn't what I was expecting, but I'll say this—it's comfortable, and I can really move in it." He demonstrated a few fighting stances, even strutting in military cadence to the admiration of his compatriots.

His dad was right—he really could make a difference in the galaxy, and not just because he was a Junior Jedi. "The guys seem to like the new uniforms," he commented proudly.

"Some more than others," Piett agreed, clasping his hands behind his back in parade rest.

Luke laughed, then abruptly sobered. "Oh, look, there's my… uh, teacher."

Everyone turned. "Lord Vader!" someone exclaimed, and they scattered like sand blown in the wind.

Except Captain Piett, who remained by Luke's side as the thundercloud bore down on them.

"Hi, sir," Luke said.

Vader folded his arms. "Captain Piett. I am disappointed. I thought you would have had the good sense not to become involved in such a hair-brained scheme as this young one has thought up."

"Hey," Luke protested, but very softly.

Piett cleared his throat. "Milord," he acknowledged in an apologetic tone. He paused.

Vader was pausing, too. Everyone seemed to be pausing. Maybe it was contagious. Luke realized that someone had to fill the silence.

"I think everyone looks great— fabulous, even! And," he raised his hand to prevent his dad's pending interruption, "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking these are dresses— they're not! They're replicas of Senatorial robes."

"They are dresses."

"They're robes!"

"If I may, milord," Piett interjected, "I believe the lad is correct. My robes, for example, represent the official colors of Kashyyk."

Vader was silent for a very long moment, then: "Kashyyk does not have official colors."

Piett looked at Luke. Luke smiled guiltily. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he offered as explanation.

"You!" Vader roared, pointing at an officer unfortunate enough to pass through his line of sight. "What is the meaning of that?"

"It's—it's our new uniform, my lord," the man managed to squeak. "I just—I sent in a request for a clean uniform and—and this is what I got!"

The Dark Lord looked down at Luke.

Luke pretended not to notice, until a big hand clamped around his forearm. "Okay, okay! Well… there was this 'global' setting and I didn't know what it meant, so I figured I should say 'yes' because 'no' might really screw things up, so…. I said 'yes', but I guess that wasn't…uh, one of my better ideas." He smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"Come with me," Vader hissed, keeping a firm grip on his arm. "Captain Piett! Get the men out of those ridiculous dresses—"

Someone giggled.

Vader whirled, searching for the culprit. Luke peered with him, but only a sea of serious (and slightly terrified) faces was visible.

The Sith uttered something that sounded like a growl. "—and repair the replicator—immediately!"

They were moving so fast and his father was keeping such a tight hold on his arm, that Luke was sliding along the polished floor—which, under other circumstances, would have been fun, and he made a mental note to try it later. Maybe in socks. Or maybe he could build some sort of sled to—

"I do not understand what chaos is in that head of yours! To wear a dress!" Vader raved, drawing interested, hastily averted glances from passing soldiers. "Disgraceful!"

"It's not a dress!" Luke protested, trying to shake free. "Okay, so it's not a Senatorial robe! It's a— a nightshirt! I'm going to bed!"

"You certainly are," his father stated grimly, tightening his grip. "And you will remain in your room until I decide that you can be behave in an adult manner." Vader stopped in front of Luke's quarters, pounded the door release, and shoved Luke inside. "Which should be in about twenty years."

"Fabulous!" he called as the door slid closed, and there he was, locked in his room forever… but his frown turned into a grin when he realized what that meant.

No trig test tomorrow!


	6. How Do You Solve A Problem Like Luke?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this one, a short scene after Luke has driven the Command staff slightly crazy, and they struggle to understand what's happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows “The Truth: Part Six” Chapter 1

"I just don't know what to do about him. Or _with_ him."

"I hope you don't need to be reassigned because you're becoming fond of him, Commander." General Dodonna's tone was disturbed.

Narra sighed— then remembered he wanted to break the habit that Oz had pointed out. "Maybe I am. He's...a break in the boring routine and...I can't help but like him. He has a way of…" He wasn't sure how to finish his thought.

"Being open about his lies? That's disarming, but ultimately still dishonest. He's very manipulative." Willard leaned back in his chair. "So, the ship. The old Sigma-class. We're outfitting it for the Princess as part of her diplomatic cover."

"He'll find a way to go whether we give it to him or not." Narra fidgeted with his stylus, flipping it over and over, tapping it on the desk.

"It's difficult to say no to the son of Darth Vader."

"Especially since he doesn't stop talking. Do you think he talks to Vader the way he talks to us?" He couldn't help himself— he sighed. "I never thought I'd feel sorry for Darth Vader, but…."

Willard hesitated. "He obviously cares about Vader and openly defends him... even _boasts_ about him. I don't know how that's possible. There's so much we don't understand about their relationship that could be useful to us. But the kid isn't about to tell us."

"He's not a kid," Dodonna said crossly. "He's an adult and we should treat—"

"He's sixteen." Narra shrugged. "He told us eighteen when he arrived, but Commander Dreis says he's sixteen."

"And we're allowing our tolerance of his youth guide our reactions." Willard frowned. "Lie upon lie. Who knows the truth? And now he wants to be trained as a Jedi… if he really even knows a Master."

"A Jedi would be a great help to the Alliance, both with skills and prestige…. But I don't believe he will fight for our cause, not when he comes up against his father." Dodonna shook his head.

"On the other hand," Narra said quietly, "Vader won't fight against his son. Look what happened with the Death Star. He allowed the Empire's ultimate weapon to be destroyed."

"That still puzzles me. Stop that tapping!" Willard snatched the stylus from his hand and placed it flat. "Granted, he saved his son from those TIEs, but why did he let Oz go up against them in the first place? Why send him here when we would inevitably battle? And why pay us to shelter him? Keeping him away from Palpatine is the obvious reason, but—"

"Remember Vader tried to get him and Jovay off planet. It was Oz who refused to leave and—"

"And Vader let him destroy a weapon that would have annihilated half the Alliance!" Willard interrupted.

"And Oz brought us the technical readouts that enabled us to find its weakness. He could have only gotten them from Vader," Narra said slowly. "So it wasn't only about Vader protecting his son… was he deliberately _not_ protecting the Death Star?"

The idea seemed too wild to speculate upon, but then Willard said: "Maybe Captain Jovay wasn't talking only about _his_ beliefs. The earlier Death Star under construction. Ten years ago. That had to have been sabotage."

None of them dared voice what they were thinking. Could Darth Vader be the Third Side? _Had_ he been for all these years? A Jedi turned Sith… a murderous Sith who destroyed the Jedi, who wiped out entire populations, who was known for being merciless, pitiless, the ultimate evil? Could it be…?

Impossible.

Yet he had a son who obviously loved him.

"No." Dodonna shook his head. "Vader intended for us to be destroyed. Only his inability to get his son to safety stopped him."

"Makes sense," Narra agreed reluctantly.

"Of course, Oz could have been sent here to soften our stance, so we let down our guard," Dodonna continued. "Look at how we're talking about Vader. This conversation would have been unthinkable a few months ago. And Commander,” he looked pointedly at Narra, “don’t be tempted to _trust_ the boy. No matter how young he is, he’s Vader’s son and possibly a spy, whether he knows it or not.”

"I know." Narra frowned. "If we let Oz leave… we'll have to move base again. We won't be protected from Vader if he's gone."

"No. We make our stand here. We are forewarned now."

"And what was that about General Kenobi?" Willard asked. "That came out of nowhere."

Narra opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Right. 'And by the way, a legendary Jedi Master and Republic General was my next door neighbor in the middle of a desert on a nearly barren planet.' Do you see why sometimes I think I'm hallucinating?"

"This isn't funny," Willard said, but laughed anyway. "Still… I vote we give him the shuttle," he said, and Narra nodded his agreement.

"I concur. However, finalize with Commander Dreis in the morning to be certain he has no objections," Dodonna said. "At best, we'll get him out of our hair for awhile and maybe gain a Jedi. At worst, we'll lose a ship and a troublemaker.”

"At worst, we'll lose a _Jedi,"_ Narra corrected softly.

Dodonna looked at him and Narra held the stare without blinking.

Willard broke the awkward moment. "Do you think when Oz occasionally makes those profound statements, like the one about promises and honor… he's quoting Vader?"

The general gazed at the ceiling. "Don't make me think about it. Just don't."


	7. Zev and Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zev and Luke have a private talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This occurs immediately after “The Truth, Part 7, Chapter 5”

He liked late nights. When his comrades were asleep, or at least quartered in their rooms, he could read and think without struggling to ignore the incessant talking. Zev Senesca looked down at his datapad without seeing the words. He listened to the comfortably reassuring noises outside— muffled voices, laughter, metal clanking, ships arriving and departing. The Alliance never slept.

Neither, of course, did the Empire.

Someone was in the 'fresher. He didn't look up, wishing whoever it was would go back to his bunk without stopping. Of course, as soon as he saw who approached, he accepted that his wistful hope had no chance of coming true.

"Hi. What're you doing? Can't you sleep? Me neither."

"I'm reading." At least the kid was being soft-spoken. Maybe this was the Luke persona as opposed to the chattering Oz that inflicted himself on them way too often. Hoping against all reason, he suggested, "You need to rest. You're flying tomorrow, remember?"

"Of course I remember! I've been waiting _forever_ to fly."

Right. Except for his first time in an x-wing when the kid blew up the Empire's premier weapon with a single shot like he was playing b-ball in a backyard.

"Anyway, I haven't been able to sleep much lately and there's no point in just lying there, bored out of my mind. What're you reading?"

"A text on child psychology." He allowed a small smile to rest on his lips.

"You are not. You just like to tease me."

How could someone so sweet also be so… twisted? Zev didn't like his thought. The kid couldn't help what had happened to him. Still, as horrific as the rape and treatment afterward had been, he knew there was more that Luke never talked about but the weight of it was visible sometimes… in the words he cut off, the faraway gaze that looked where no one else could see, the occasional slump of his shoulders when he was discouraged without apparent reason.

"I'm reading about personalities and theories that try to figure out why we are who we are."

"Really?" Luke sat at the opposite end of the sofa, pulling up his knees and folding his arms around them, a posture Zev had always thought was childlike until he realized it was protective. "So what does it say about you?"

"Maybe I haven't gotten to that chapter yet."

"Oh, please! You read that first, anyone would!"

He shrugged. "It didn't say anything I didn't know."

"Well… maybe I could tell you things better than a text could." There was hesitancy in the offer, and Zev didn't have the heart to say no.

"Have at it, kid." Already he was feeling defensive, wary of what this strange youngling might say, this child that he both liked and distrusted.

The startling clear eyes studied him for a moment. "You're smart. You're… canny, clever. You see behind people's words. And around them. You think you know what people are thinking, but you're afraid you don't. You protect others almost as much as you protect yourself. Sometime in your life, you lost your faith… I don't know what kind… religious, personal, or belief in someone else? You've had losses— particularly one bad one that changed your view of yourself. Maybe someone died because of your actions… but not in battle. You feel—"

"Stop it." Zev clenched his teeth. "What are you doing? Are you reading my mind?"

"No. I can't read minds." The boy tightened his grip around his legs. "I can just sense things. You send a lot of messages by what you say and don't say, things you do, the look in your eyes..."

"Is that a Force thing?" He wanted to get back to his reading and forget about the kid, but it was too late.

"I don't think so." Luke's head tilted as though he was listening to something Zev couldn't hear. "No. Other people can do it." He grinned. "Look it up in your personality book!"

"Hmm." He decided to derail the kid's focus by making him talk about himself, which was his favorite topic. "Tell me about the Force."

Luke sighed. "The Force is an energy field that binds all living things— hey, non-living things, too, they didn't tell me that— I don’t think— or maybe I don’t remember— together." He shifted into a cross-legged position which he did when he was relaxed with someone, and Zev felt absurdly flattered. "It's supposed to be neutral, but— hah! I don't think so, that's just Jedi publicity."

He laughed a little. "Why do you say that?"

"Because the Jedi— and the Sith, too— are all blah-blah that's Dark Side, that's Light Side— be careful of the Dark Side because it's so much easier. Well, that doesn't sound neutral to me if one side is faster and easier! And..." Luke paused, but was becoming visibly enthused, and Zev realized he didn't have much of a chance to talk to anyone about his ideas. The kid should be in university, not in this struggling rebellion.

"Go on."

The youngster clicked his tongue. "The Jedi say they're Light and that the Dark things they do are okay, because it's the intent that's important, not the action itself. Which makes them hypocrites."

And just like that, there went a few thousand years of philosophy. "So what do you think the Force is?"

"Well… it's not a religion, some of my tapes say that but I don't believe it." He sighed. "I don't think it's Dark or Light or Neutral, it just is. Some people can use it or twist it— I don't know, maybe everyone can and they just don't realize what they're doing. Like flying. Like whoever invented ships that are too heavy to lift off the ground and get into the air, but they do."

"That's physics, mechanics—"

"But where did _they_ come from?" Luke asked earnestly. "They came from people's brains so ultimately did they come from the Force? Are brains part of the Force? And really, _is_ there such a thing as the Force? Who named it? Who described it? Who decided that it was a real thing?"

He had no idea how to respond. "You must think about this a lot."

"All the time, especially as I find more I can do with it. Why can't everyone use it? Why should I be able to access so easily?"

"Can you?" He wondered, sometimes, exactly what Luke could do.

The other shrugged. "Sure, like—" And somehow Zev's datapad was in Luke's hand though he was positive the kid hadn't moved. "And if I practiced more, I could do that with… anything. Size matters not." He handed back the pad. "But it's scary, you know?"

"I can see that it would be," he answered honestly, completely perplexed by this man-child's worries. "But what exactly are you afraid of?"

Knees up and clutched again. "Because it's so easy to do bad things like… remember when that creature 'vomited' all over me?"

"I remember the smell vividly." Involuntarily he grinned, also remembering the disgust on Oz's face when his usually pristine clothes were covered with goo.

"It didn't throw up." Luke's lower lip turned deep pink as he gnawed at it. "I _blew_ it up. Just by looking at it and taking it apart inside. And I blew up a snake on Dagobah. And dissolved a rock by holding it in my hand and looking inside and taking it apart."

Why was he being the subject of such confessions? "So…."

"So I could do that with people." Sudden stricken, the youngster looked close to tears.

"What stops you?" Zev asked as calmly as he could, though he could feel his palms getting sweaty. Should he be so close to someone like this? Should Luke even be in their barracks… or with the Alliance? Because as preposterous as the claims sounded, he believed them.

"Just… _me,_ I guess." Luke sighed. "But what if I get so angry that I forget to be careful? I don't want to end up like… like a bad person. And there are no teachers left to help me sort it out… well, no teachers I should…."

"It must be difficult, having no one to talk to about all this." Zev was torn between fear and compassion. "What about your father, can you talk to him?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "He doesn't have the patience for long conversations. And I get all tongue-tied around him and say dumb things. Or worse, I deliberately try to antagonize him. _Why?_ Why do I do that?"

Zev laughed. "You are describing every father and son in the universe." Except most fathers didn't have sons who were capable of blowing them up. He didn't expect an answer, but that didn't stop him from asking: "Why won't you tell us anything about your father? What's so secret?"

For a second, he thought he might get an honest answer, but he could see the moment in Luke's eyes when he backed away. So he was surprised when the kid actually answered.

"Because I love him. But he's not… he's not a nice person. None of you would like him, and I couldn't bear to see that." His mouth twisted in a little frown. "I wish you wouldn't ask about him."

"I won't ask again," he promised slowly and hoped he could hold to that, because he knew that at this moment he would promise this sad, bright kid anything. "But nothing will stop Janson, you know."

"I know, he's—"

A door opened. "What are you two doing up? It's after 0200!" Narra demanded in a whisper. "Get some sleep! We're drilling in a few hours."

"Yes, sir," Zev said without moving, but evidently Narra wasn't leaving until they obeyed.

"Okay. Sorry I interrupted your reading," Luke said quietly, "but thanks for listening. G'night." He reached out and gently brushed the back of Zev's hand before he stood.

He stared, surprised, as the kid bounded toward his room. Narra looked at him and he knew they shared the same thought: that was the first time they'd seen Luke voluntarily touch a single person out of friendship.

Zev smiled and gave their squad leader a nod as he closed the datapad and headed to bed, believing that tonight he might actually fall asleep.

Despite the fact that a few rooms away lay a child who could blow him into pieces.


	8. Through Vader’s Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This coincides with [The Truth, Part 9, Chapter 1: Reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023100/chapters/60596890)  
> (Read the chapter first.)  
> Darth Vader ponders the past, present and future while he watches his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Courtesy Trefflin for asking what Vader was thinking. I wanted to know too. It appears that Luke brings out the ‘Anakin’ in Vader… Anakin with all his erratic, neurotic, delusional thoughts. Can we say ‘obsessed’?  
> # # #

Agitation was irrational, possibly even preposterous. Further, he was as nervous as a mouse trapped in a herd of banthas. He was the Dark Lord of the Sith, he could face Palpatine with little more than mild trepidation. But now he was anxiously anticipating his son’s arrival— his _son_ , a _child,_ a not-so-harmless little human whose life he controlled. _Should_ control. Should direct and nurture. Luke should have always been with him. Their lives should have been immeasurably better. (Although if the Emperor had trained Luke, he would be ready now to kill his father and take his place.)

Instead Luke was sunnier than the twin orbs above Tatooine. Irrepressible, persistent (annoyingly so at times) and he unnerved Vader in almost the same way Padme had unnerved Anakin. Padme with her dark eyes and heart-rending gaze that could be loving or quizzical, Luke with crystal eyes that saw through his mask. _All_ his masks.

And already his offspring was shouting in his head: _Can you come here? Pleeeese?_ No, he would not be so easily manipulated (at least not in front of his troops). Clenching his fists, he called on patience as he waited with anticipation that tightened like a band around his chest.

Luke probably wouldn’t like Vjun. It wasn’t a pleasant place for anyone, let alone a youth who was used to running freely. He smiled slightly at the memory of sharing Luke’s adventures in the jungle. Jumping and climbing with him, joyous, loving that moment, sharing as they should have shared in a life together… as they _would_ have without Obi-Wan’s attack or Palpatine’s interference. So many variables, any of which could have changed the course of his life ( _their_ lives).

But consider: if Luke hadn’t been a youthful reprobate, a drinker, a drug user, struggling against his inherited tendency to self-immolate, if he hadn’t requested a blood test, if Captain Jovay hadn’t realized his identity— was it Fate, the Force, or simply serendipity? 

He felt the blinding presence before he heard the cry “Daaaad!” and held out one arm (only to prevent a collision) as a speeding meteor of a boy hurled itself against him in a way that anyone else would have died for… though no one else could have gotten so close.

They bantered with words, gently, meaninglessly, until Luke asked, “Don’t you miss sunshine?” and he couldn’t disguise his laughter. _Not any longer,_ he was tempted to say, but he didn’t want to give his son even more power over him. (If, indeed, that was possible.)

Luke was like his own mother; Shmi had given him endless, unqualified love. Obi-Wan had tried to love him, until he decided to destroy Anakin Skywalker for the sin of disappointing him. Padme had loved him no matter what he did— murdering the tribal Tuskens, even killing the younglings at the temple— until she betrayed him with Obi-Wan for _politics!_

Politics. The Republic or the Empire. Palpatine or the Senate. For these things, his body was sacrificed. He, Darth Vader, should have been the most powerful Sith ever, more powerful than any Jedi. He should have been ruling the galaxy, changing it for the betterment of all. Instead he was imprisoned in this suit, and the only comforts he had now were his strength and his son.

Luke. Who had no political allegiance. Alliance, Empire… they didn’t matter to him. He supported his friends no matter their beliefs, but his ultimate loyalty was to his father, and Vader had finally accepted that. For whatever extraordinary reason, Luke loved him without reservation. Luke knew who he was, _what_ he was, and accepted the totality of him— except for the things that Vader didn’t accept. The suit. Palpatine. Together they could rid his life of the second, but the first…? Luke was so determined that Vader didn’t have the will to reject his son’s insistence. The boy needed to know the facts, but he didn’t _want_ Luke to see the medical procedures that revealed the extent of his destroyed body. He didn’t _want_ Luke to see his vulnerabilities. He wanted to remain perfect (invisible) in the eyes of his child.

And his hesitancy was exactly the reason he’d invited Luke— because of the boy’s peculiar persistence that would force him into these admissions, that would render him free of making such life-altering decisions for himself. He had spent seventeen years in this suit; he was used to the pain that was ever present, to the discomfort that had become comfortable, to the power he could harness that was still less than the strength that had once vibrated through his unblemished body.

Perhaps it was not the best parenting to declare NO, then allow Luke to disobey and do as he pleased, but it suited them both. _Ani, tolerating bad behavior_ _condones_ _bad behavior,_ his mother had said, though it had taken him many years to fully understand what she meant, and understanding didn’t bring compliance. However, she had not known her grandson. Luke did not exhibit bad behavior, so that rule didn’t apply to him. His son had overcome his youthful indiscretions to turn into a perfect teenager who still needed his father. (Who would always need him, if Vader had his way.) (And Vader _would_ have his way.)

Luke was chattering and it washed over him comfortably, except for ‘ _my friend Wes’._ Who was this Wes person? He had holos and biographies of all the Red Squad members, so he knew the basics: Wes Janson, native of Tanaab, crack pilot, lieutenant, 26 years old, much too old to be a friend for his son. He wondered at the man’s motives. So far, Janson and Luke had seemingly bonded over wardrobes, which was harmless enough despite the small dent to Vader’s finances. (Meaningless, really, when he could confiscate whatever goods and properties he desired.) He did, however, believe that he needed to monitor this friendship more closely to ensure that Janson didn’t take advantage of his naive son in any way.

“Do you feel all right? Because you don’t feel all right to me.”

This was the moment he had planned yet dreaded. He could always change his mind later, but for now he shared some of the processes and the knowledge that Palpatine kept him maimed. As he expected, Luke leaped at the opportunity to help, exactly what Vader did/didn’t want. Padme would have done the same for him, but her soft eyes would have held compassion; Luke’s gaze was determined and optimistic. He might have new ideas and if not, at least his companionship would be a distraction during the procedures.

He hoped his son was pleased with the rooms. Vader waited, arms folded as Luke explored the Dark Lord’s personal quarters. It was comfortable enough; he didn’t need much for himself, but he’d had some furniture added that he thought his son would enjoy.

Luke went immediately to his desk and sat in the big chair, looking even smaller than his actual size. He wondered if the boy had been an especially tiny toddler. Briefly, he regretted having the Larses killed before examining their wretched hovel more thoroughly. Perhaps there had been holos— although it was more likely they hadn’t the credits to spend taking snaps of a child not their own. A child they woefully and criminally neglected.

He wondered about Luke’s friend, the Darklighter boy who had been given credit for the Death Star’s destruction. Would that family have any holos that included Luke? He would track them down and find out. If they did, the snaps rightly belonged to him, and he would have them.

Those thoughts were pushed aside, and he couldn’t repress a smile as his open-mouthed son shuffled through the holos. Luke loved looking at himself; his eyes widened at the snap of him in his “Sithly” black and brown garb. He bit his lip and looked between Vader and the holos several times. Luke was pleased...a bit dismayed, but Vader could feel delight flare across their bond, even as the boy protested that the spy should be arrested for the crime of _taking holos._ He nearly laughed at Luke’s assertion that he would scowl and not cooperate with the snaps— _as if,_ as his son might say. _As if_ Luke wouldn’t preen and be proud and dressed impeccably every time he stepped out of his barracks in the future. Really, he should install a recorder in the barracks to watch him select and reject clothing… a good idea, as it would also alleviate the need to be in Luke’s head as often as he was. (Although it wasn’t such a terrible place to be.) He liked (adored) the boy, but Luke’s thoughts were often disordered and even erratic. The child needed to learn to think with discipline.

Sometimes Luke was charming. A boy who slept with Darth Vader’s image under his pillow. His heart pump twinged a little— undoubtedly because it was time for its scheduled maintenance, not because of the picture in his mind: Luke, asleep, long lashes brushing childish cheeks, lips parted, breathing softly, one hand under the pillow to touch the beaten poster of his father that he’d rescued from its destiny as a target for Rebel darts.

Possibly with a plushie clutched in his arms. (Why hadn’t he thought to buy a plushie?)

His son was beautiful. He and Padme had created a miracle. She should have been here to see their child. _Would_ have been here if not for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who had interfered in his life beyond repair. Who had turned Padme against him. His mentor and his brother who had crippled him. His master who had been stingy with praise but eager with criticism.

Did he praise Luke enough? Because the way the boy had changed since Vader recovered him on Tatooine was remarkable. How hard he worked at everything— really, he needed to tell his son how amazing he was. At some point.

Watching Luke made him wish he had a human hand(s) so he could feel the texture of that fair hair. He’d never paid much attention to his own hair; he would comb it once in the morning (when he remembered) and that was that. Padme’s hair was thick and smooth like satin; he could unwrap her elaborate styles and twist the strands around his wrists like binders and pretend he was her prisoner. Luke’s hair looked more like his had been, unruly, not quite curly, although Luke was careful to keep his hair neatly combed and styled. It needed a trim. He would send Luke back to the salon on Corellia (while he monitored) before he returned him to the Alliance. It would be good for the enemy to see Luke appearing happy and well-groomed under his father’s tutelage.

He should have sent the boy to university rather than to the Rebellion. A small (but academically strong) school where Luke could study, work, socialize and shop, just as he did now. In that milieu, it would be safer and easier to maintain contact with him. He should ask Luke what he would like to study.

And now Luke wanted white— correction, _sandy_ — boots (because ‘ _my friend Wes’_ said no to white). Certainly not, he would never be allowed to order for himself. Darth Vader was quite pleased to be the _middle man_ for his son. He would give Luke anything— and was prepared to do that on this trip, although he feared the boy would not appreciate one of the ‘gifts’. However, Luke needed to be pushed to make a choice and affirm his dedication to the Dark or the Light— those sides of the Force that Luke did not believe in. Maybe he was correct; maybe he was Grey like Mace Windu had been. A Jedi with a temper….

That sounded familiar. He gestured to illuminate the holographic display that changed the room into a starry universe and bathed in his son’s delighted surprise. If there was any way to modify his suit (he had no hope that it could be eliminated) perhaps Luke could find it without alerting Palpatine. His son was a visionary who had inherited his father’s ingenious and innovative ways of finding solutions.

And sometimes his impetuous ways. The boy was definitely his father’s son. Vader tilted his head to look at the boy who felt his smile and returned it. Then Luke leaned back and studied the galaxy that revolved around him, having no idea how absolutely true that was.


	9. Piett’s Not-So-Great Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piett considers Luke and Vader and everything that just happened aboard the Executor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fits after [The Truth, Part 10, Chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890088/chapters/64738651)

# # #

This had not been his first day spent in hell, but it was one of the most unnerving. Firmus Piett was an experienced professional when it came to addressing crises, facing casualties, writing devastating messages to next of kin (reminder: wait until afterward to have a drink), and even dealing with Lord Vader in a bad mood (be very, very quiet). But the last twenty-four hours had been something he had never experienced in his life….

# # #

It began on the bridge in the morning after the uneventful (thankfully) launch of the Executor from the dock. He wasn’t quite ready to congratulate himself (which turned out to be a wise choice) as the Lady traveled gracefully on her first run, but he’d given Max Veers a slightly smug look. And that was when all hell broke loose.

For no apparent reason, Lord Vader cut off his graphic description of his planned interrogation of the prisoners and whirled, storming toward the exit, cape flaring out so widely he appeared to be flying. Before he even reached the end of the walkway, there came a shaking followed by a loud noise, and then puffs of dirt (that Piett knew was skin off the walls of the Lady) ejected from beneath the doors.

He wanted to follow his lord, but his automatic response to emergencies took over his brain, spitting orders into the com to damage control, critical assessment, and response teams. “Go after him,” he muttered to Veers, not doubting that his lord knew exactly where the problem happened, what it was, who did it— well, obviously (probably, but nothing was ever certain) the two intruders they’d picked up.

In the midst of the controlled chaos, Piett was struck with a (horrifying) thought: _What did I miss?_ How could explosives have been smuggled aboard? Unless (he hoped without much faith) it was an accidental mechanical failure. Which would be even worse because it would mean that a crew member or shipyard worker was at fault and when Lord Vader discovered—

His com beeped. “Piett.”

“When you have things under control there, you’d better get to Vader’s quarters.”

Really, he hoped that Veers wouldn’t continue. (So he agreed and cut him off.) How could things be any worse? Repairs could be made—

Shit.

_Luke._

_Return to my quarters and assist Captain LeKauf,_ Vader had said.

Shit shit shit. If anything happened to that boy— even the Lady might not live through Vader’s rage.

# # #

He could smell fumes through his respirator. (He should’ve brought goggles, too.) “How bad is it?” Well, he could see it was bad enough. Lord Vader’s office was in shambles, a giant hole where the desk had evidently fallen deeper than he could see— or maybe it was buried under the ceiling tiles. Above his head was a massive amount of twisted cables and wiring. (Why now? Why today? Why him?)

“The source appears to be a few levels below,” Veers stated flatly.

“I _know_ that much,” he replied curtly (it was his _job_ to know). “What about the boy?”

Max gestured to the hole. “LeKauf too. I think.”

 _Double shit._ Why wasn’t the rescue crew down there? Why were they standing back so far? “Why aren’t—”

“Lord Vader won’t allow—”

Everyone ducked as a large piece of metal came flying out of the depths and clanged on the scarred floor. “Oh.” He backed up. “How far down is he?”

“If you get close enough you can see Lord Vader— well, you _could_ if he wasn’t tossing debris like weapons. Luke seems to be between decks. Possibly,” Veers added, twitching, “in a ventilation shaft.”

Of course. A ventilation shaft. Vader had had to lightsaber the boy out of a duct on the Devastator. The irony would be amusing if the incident wasn’t so terrifying. (Doom. This was doom, the end, it was finally here. Even if they lived through this, they would die if the boy did.)

“And the shaft is filling with fire retardant foam.”

There it was again. The boy had accidentally flooded the Devastator bridge with decontam foam. The universe was precise in its revenge. “Cut off the retardant as soon as fire danger is over.” (Oh, please, don’t let the boy burn.) “Are teams going at it from the other decks?”

“Yes, but there’s a lot of damage. They’re not making much headway. Are you all right, Firmus?”

“Me? Of course I am. _I’m_ not the one who’s injured.”

“Not yet,” Max murmured under his breath. “Are we headed back to Kuat?”

“Yes.” That had been one of the first orders he’d given. He ducked as a twisted platform of jagged metal came flying out. “I trust you’ll provide backup security until we discover the responsible parties?”

“Consider it done.” Veers paused, then said what Piett was thinking. “All the gods help us, though, if that boy dies.”

# # #

Twenty-four hours later: _He didn’t die. He didn’t die. He didn’t die._

Piett kept repeating that to himself, hands shaking slightly as he poured himself a drink. (Well, it was a caf, but he pretended there was something additional in it.)

Max looked paler than usual (nothing extra in his caf either). Everyone did, except Lord Vader who looked his usual masked self… other than the anger in his voice (which wasn’t all that unusual), the clenched fist railing against something invisible (again, not unusual), and the dramatic vows of vengeance, death, and destruction (again…).

“—and their blood will flow like the rivers of—”

“Da-aad,” came a hoarse protest, and Vader went silent.

Did he say… _Dad?_ Dad. Just… _Dad._ Piett sighed to himself.

They were all in Piett’s (former) office— the Skywalker-Vaders, himself, Veers, a bandaged-but-upright LeKauf, new arrival Captain Jovay representing Security, and Captain Jir (looking like he just ate something not to his taste).

Vader, of course, had commandeered his office and directed Piett out (to where, he didn’t say, but because shit rolled downhill, he took Captain Jir’s office) (which might explain his sour expression). He supposed he was fortunate that the rest of Vader’s quarters were relatively undamaged (so Piett could keep his bed). Even his medical droid had survived. And, oh thank the gods, the boy’s quarters were unharmed. 

What struck Piett as extraordinary (a completely inappropriate thought considering the circumstances) was the huge stuffed chair that had somehow appeared in his office. No one admitted to moving it (really, would Vader use the Force to move furniture?) and he’d never seen it on a manifest, yet there it was, the biggest, fluffiest, comfiest (not that he’d been able to try it) chair he’d ever seen. And young Skywalker was curled up in it like a cat, looking only slightly the worse after his ordeals, first in the shaft and then (screaming protests) in the bacta tank. He had a feeling that Vader would look worse than his son if he could see his face (he didn’t want to see Vader’s face).

He wondered if Luke had ever seen his lordship without the mask. (Why? Why would he wonder such a thing, what was wrong with him? He needed to focus.)

Right at the moment, Luke was on the verge of falling asleep (maybe that’s why Vader stopped his vocal rampage), but was struggling to remain alert and listen to the reports while watching his father with an odd, rapt expression (which Piett could only identify tentatively as ‘wary awe’) (maybe).

“It appears the intent was not to attack you personally, but rather to harm the ship,” Karas Jovay said, not referring to his datapad (having committed all the details to what Piett had heard was a prodigious memory).

“Or to delay it,” Piett offered. “It may be connected to our next mission.”

“I am certain it was Xizor and Black Sun. He is determined to undermine me in every way he can.” Vader tapped a stylus on the table, and Luke frowned at him. (The stylus was put aside. How curious.) “Still… his attack may have backfired. The Emperor is most displeased about the damage to the ship. And the possible assassination attempt on me, of course.”

Vader paused and looked at Luke, then shook his head slightly. (Oh, wonderful, they could communicate mentally.) “The prisoners did not reveal any pertinent information.”

“You killed them too soon,” Luke observed neutrally.

Piett quit breathing (just for a moment) but Vader didn’t chastise his son. “Indeed.”

Somehow (oh, Piett _knew_ how!) one of his drawers slid open and a (formerly discreetly hidden) bottle of Nubian brandy somehow (he knew how) floated over to him. “Perhaps this will help you focus,” Lord Vader said.

Piett (declined it in his head) accepted it and added a shot to his caf before passing it to Veers. The bottle made the rounds until it reached Luke. Then it mysteriously (he knew how) floated out of the boy’s reach and back to the desk. Luke giggled. (Gods, the kid was resilient!)

And small, very small for his age, which Piett put at sixteen or seventeen, he couldn’t quite remember. He looked thin, but in reality he was lean, solid muscle (as Piett had learned when he helped pull Luke out) (for a second, before Vader pushed him aside and scooped up the boy like a baby) (who tried to kick and scream like a baby before surrendering and settling down). It had been terrifying for a moment, seeing the boy so gray— his face and lips, even his hair and eyelashes had been thickly coated with dust. He’d looked like a corpse, but Vader had strode off with him, swiftly but not running, so Piett assumed (with overwhelming relief) that Luke would recover.

He’d waited until Captain LeKauf was freed moments later, then went directly to sick bay to review the casualties. No deaths (he couldn’t believe their luck, given the damage) but a few serious injuries to crew members who would be disappointed to be removed from their assignments on the Queen of the Fleet.

He winced, thinking of the damage to his Lady. “All will be fine, Admiral,” Vader said from out of nowhere (krit, can he read minds?) (of course he can, already knew that). “Our plan will proceed as arranged.”

“You’re still sending Luke back to the Rebels?” he blurted in consternation.

“Sure he is,” Luke interjected with a cheeky grin, “and I’ll have _scars!_ I’ll look like a warrior!”

“You _are_ a warrior.” Vader sounded like he’d said that a few times before. “And you will _not_ have scars, no matter how many times into the tank it takes.”

Young Skywalker rolled his eyes. “I hate that so—” His declaration stumbled to a halt. “Food!”

The Dark Lord looked at him. “What?”

“Just before I— you know, turned on my Force, I thought of food.” Luke straightened.

“Of course you did.”

Veers slid a look at Piett who determinedly avoided returning it.

“No, I mean, yes, but… something made me think of it. A sound, maybe?”

“My lord,” Piett interrupted with (what was for him) excitement. “The main food processing room is four decks below your quarters. If someone was utilizing the delivery tube system—”

“They could have sent explosives anywhere,” Captain Jovay acknowledged. “Including your quarters. Or the officers’ recreation area below.”

“Or they could’ve used those horizontal things and sent them other places,” Luke added. He looked at his father. “This talk about food is making me really hungry,” he whispered pathetically (Piett thought it was an act). “Can I please have some fruit pie with that green stuff on it?”

Well… it _was_ damn good pie, Piett had to admit. “I’ll order—” He snapped his mouth closed. (What was he _thinking?)_

But Lord Vader nodded to him, and Piett decided he was, after all, as the saying went, getting the lay of the land.

So he thumbed his com and ordered pie for the (possible) new Second-in-Command of (possibly) the entire Empire.

# # #


	10. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat intoxicated Darth Vader talks with his faithful (read: long-suffering) aide, Captain LeKauf, about Luke and himself. Some realizations spur him to record the tape that Luke read here [The Truth, Part 10, Chapter 10 Farewell ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890088/chapters/65698045) and after his son leaves, he finds the messages Luke left for him.

"He said something that haunts me." The Force refilled his brandy. There was little left in the decanter, and he wondered if Piett had any more that he'd hidden. Or maybe LeKauf. "I don't know why it should. It was nothing I hadn't already realized. But somehow, hearing him say it so flatly and knowing that he _knew_ but didn't really appreciate how fragile, how dangerously random our connection had been…."

Vader sent a bleary, sideways glance at his aide. LeKauf had only taken a small sip. He looked tired, and Vader felt mildly guilty for waking him after Luke had fallen asleep. But he had suddenly, abnormally, craved companionship.

"What was that, my lord?" LeKauf smothered a yawn.

Even his trusted aide didn't need to know all the harsh background of Luke's life. "If he hadn't had a blood test that traced his parentage, I never would have known about him. Can you imagine?" He had another sip. "I can't. My life wouldn't have changed like it has."

"Ah. And what about _his_ life? Would the old one have been preferable to the one he has now?"

_Preferable?_ He almost snapped at LeKauf before remembering that he was ignorant of Luke's trials. "No. I can't even imagine the terrible fate he would have suffered, alone and struggling on that hellish planet. What if Palpatine had found him?"

"Fortunately that didn't happen, sir. You found each other, and I believe it's to the betterment of you both."

"I agree." He swirled the liquid in the glass, noting the way it clung to the sides, determined to hang on. It reminded him of Luke. "How am I better?"

Not wanting to pressure his aide, he didn't look at LeKauf during the extended silence. He tapped his fingers on the chair arm while he waited.

"Well… my lord… you're…. you seem less… more patient."

"Do I?" Vader waited expectantly.

"Yes, sir. And… perhaps… happier? Perhaps more like… of course, I didn't know you before when you were a, uh, Jedi. But you seem more… hopeful. And your plan seems more…attainable."

He grunted. "And what are your impressions of _him?_ How does _he_ seem better?"

There was a hesitation. The captain drew in a long breath. "Well… of course I didn't meet him until a few days ago, so—"

"First impressions," he commanded brusquely.

"I…. He's obviously quite intelligent—"

"I made him study," Vader interjected. "He had no formal education. Atrocious upbringing. Criminal negligence. His guardians should have been prosecu—" Oh. Right.

"That's—"

"He applied himself with such determination. He accomplished everything that I threw at him and asked for more. But he's still maintained his strong personality. He's not easily fooled— no, I don't think anyone fools him about anything. Least of all me. He sees right through me. He challenges me. Defies me. I don't seem to mind any longer. Why don't I mind?" He downed the rest of his brandy, feeling it warm whatever guts he had left. "What else do you think about him? Are you going to finish your drink?"

"Given that I'm on duty in two hours, I won't." LeKauf pushed the glass over. "Um… Luke is, uh… charming, definitely charming. Very personable."

"He takes after me that way."

The officer nodded. "Yes, my lord. He's outspoken. And he has a lot of energy."

"Again— me."

"He's… good looking."

" _Good looking?"_ Vader snorted. "He's _stunning!_ Perfect! He shines like Padme, his face and smile are hers— But he looks like me too. We just talked about that. He has both our smiles. My eyes, of course. I made a joke. I think he laughed. What else?"

LeKauf linked his hands together. "He obviously adores you."

Vader waited.

"And hangs on your every utterance."

He kept waiting.

"I… would go so far as to say he _worships_ you."

Vader didn't respond. He turned the glass around in his hand a few times then held it up, peering through it. LeKauf's face was distorted.

"Uh… was that too much?"

He nodded. "Don't overdo it, Captain. I just want your honest reaction." He paused, then added: "About someone who saved your life at nearly the cost of his own."

"Well… I suppose I would say that Luke is a treasure, my lord. And you are privileged to have such a gift come into your life after so many years."

He stared into the liquid that was the color of… something. It sparkled like the stars Luke had tried so hard (and failed so adorably) to paint on his castle wall.

"And, of course, sir, it's always wonderful to have someone to love, especially when that person loves you back.”

Vader stood, abruptly ending the conversation. "Thank you, Captain. I'm sorry to have disturbed—" _Sorry?_ When was he ever sorry? "I bid you good evening… or… I suppose it should be 'good day'."

"My lord."

# # #

Back in the bedroom that was functioning as his only personal space— it occurred to him that after Luke left, he could also use Luke's rooms when he wanted to work or meditate… or just think about his son, feel the remnants of his presence— he was haunted by LeKauf's words.

_Luke is a treasure, my lord…._

He'd had other treasures in his life and lost them. Destroyed them. Padme, the Jedi Order… destroyed. His mother… lost. Obi-Wan… betrayed, lost... destroyed? There was no description for what had happened between him and his mentor and best friend.

And now he had Luke.

A treasure.

_His_ treasure.

He pulled out the chair and sat heavily, propping his elbows on the desk to support his head because the room was rotating strangely. Was freeing himself from Palpatine worth risking his treasure? His child? He'd served Sidious for seventeen years. The damned Sith couldn't live forever… could he? Maybe with more healing, more Light, new organs and new strength… the strength drawn from both Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker… maybe then Sidious could be weakened, even defeated. The Emperor wasn't omnipotent; he hadn't been able to discover Luke's whereabouts. He still needed his courtiers, his army and navy, his toadies to praise him. He needed his luxuries. He needed his throne.

His Throne. That carved obsidian horror where he held court and meted out his version of justice. Torture. Terror.

Not for the first time, Vader wondered about the Throne and if it was permeated with some sort of Sith Alchemy, Dark magic that endowed more power to the man. Was the throne a locus of the Coruscant Dark Side? He remembered when Palpatine was Chancellor, how he'd rarely left his office— And how he had stayed happily "shackled" to the throne-like seat on the Invisible Hand waiting for rescue. The discovery he and Luke had made about the concentration of power at the Imperial Palace— was there more to it? Was there something magical in his thrones and chairs? Maybe Sidious took Chair Magic with him wherever he went.

_Maybe the magic is in his butt,_ he could almost hear what his son's irreverent declaration would be, and it made him laugh aloud. His thoughts were flying too far and becoming as ridiculous as his son's. (Although now he regretted ever telling his child that his dreams were ridiculous.)

He would find the key that opened Sidious's most closely guarded secrets, and that key did not also have to unlock his treasure. His son could stay safely hidden, and if that meant Vader would spend the rest of his life in servitude, so be it. He would not risk his son's life.

No matter how badly he yearned to have Luke at his side.

The Dark Lord reached for a tape and began to dictate a message to his boy.

# # #

Luke was gone.

He watched Yahoo speed from the hangar with its three escorts. He turned to his officers. "Dismissed," he ordered simply, not waiting for his orders to be followed.

Soon Luke would enter the first hyperspace lane of his trip and would no doubt listen to his message. It wouldn't be easy to send a response while in hyper— though through the Force, there would be no difficulty, so Vader shuttered their link. In an emergency Luke could contact him. Otherwise he hoped the child would respect his need for privacy.

There was a package on his bed. How odd, LeKauf would never intrude in his private space without direction. He smiled slightly. Of course, it had to be from Luke. Pleased, he opened it and saw black pleats. Another gown. Vader chuckled and held it up. From the folds, a piece of flimsi fell. He picked it up and opened it— and was astonished.

_Dad,_

What? This was— "My son's handwriting!" he exclaimed aloud. This was it? How had he never seen his son's handwriting? In two years, had they only exchanged thoughts and holos? This was—

Well. He supposed Luke had had minimal instruction on Tatooine. He would send an instructional vid about how to form proper letters in Basic Aurebesh. This was a hodge-podge of printing and cursive.

Still, it had a certain charm. It was expressive and lively, just like his son.

It was short— too short. Vader frowned.

_Dad,_

_Really, you need to get out of that armor sometimes!! Here's your gorgeous blue robe in BLACK! Happy now??? Say thank you to LeKauf because he replicated it. If you like it, he can order it in fancy fabrics like your other one._

_Anyway… this is to say 'thank you' for, I guess, hosting me. Is that what I should call it? I know, sorry, you paid for it, but I think it must be pretty cheap since it's just a replication. It's the thought that counts, right?_

_Love ya!_

_Luke_

Chuckles used to sound strange through his vocoder, but thanks to Luke he'd become used to the vibrations in his throat. He smoothed the missive and slipped it into the bedside drawer. His son was amazing. So thoughtful and kind. That was the Padme part of Luke.

There was work to do at his desk. It was out of place and pushed across the room, which made him frown, but it was better than using Piett's desk that had been built for a smaller man. Anyway, Piett's desk was dangerous. It might reveal another hidden bottle of brandy, and that wouldn't do at all. He felt a tiny regret that he'd deprived the captain of his liquid sustenance, but acknowledged that the Kuat depot could resupply it… or Veers could share some of his 'secret' stash. It was fortunate indeed that his commanders didn't imbibe the way he had last night— actually, this morning— and fortunate that they would never know his behavior, as he counted on LeKauf's discretion.

He settled behind the desk. There was a holotape on the top that he knew he hadn't left. Could Luke have—? He slid it into the projector. Sure enough, there appeared the image of his son wearing his armor. No hood, no helmet, no gloves.

Luke gave a typical shrug and his usual shy smile. _Don't get mad at LeKauf,_ his tiny figure said. _He told me you said to wait to watch your message until I was in hyper, but Dad—seriously, it's ME! I couldn't wait._

Mini-Luke looked to the side and sighed. _I'm not sure what all I want to say. Dad… stars! I mean… I… you… You totally changed my life. I'm so relieved I could do… well, I guess the same thing for you. You're changing too, you know. You're becoming… your old self? I don't know because I didn't know you then. But you sound happier than you used to, and I think these last few weeks were so good for us. I know we fought and had bad moments— okay, some really awful, terrible, horrible moments, some of the worst fights of my life— well, maybe not— well, yeah, I guess they were— but anyway, look how we got through them! We're perfect now!_

_Okay. So… thanks for the money. I don't know what I'll do with it. Should I buy a couple racing pods for us?_

He paused the recording, wanting to stop watching and take off his mask and helmet so that he could see his son more clearly. See those eyes that were the color of a clear morning sky on Tatooine. But he had duties to perform and the holo wasn't going anywhere; he would keep it forever and watch it over and over.

With a sigh, he continued it.

_Seriously_ , Luke said, his expression softening and seeming to glow even through his lenses, _Dad, I'm not going anywhere without you. You and me together, that's it. I've never for a moment considered— well, maybe occasionally for a moment, now and then— I mean, I want to help destroy Sidious. I want you to be free. I want to quit hiding— both of us!— and live openly as whatever we want to call ourselves. Maybe… 'Gray Jedi..Sith...'? Although I see no good reason why we can't start a new Force Order called 'Skywalkers'. Or maybe just 'Force Order'. Whatever._

_Anyway, I'm doing whatever you're doing. If you want to rule the Empire_ —here Luke heaved a dramatic sigh— _I'll go along with that. As long as it's not forever. I mean… I HOPE it's not forever, but even if it is, I'll stick with you. So quit fretting. I love you. I miss you already and I haven't even left yet! This sucks!_

Vader shook his head. "You should not use that expression."

_I know what you just thought!_ Luke said. _But it does, being apart SUCKS! So let's get together soon. Let me know when you're near. If you're close enough, maybe I can drop over for a day, you think? Well… maybe you won't be THAT close, but…._

_Okay, I'm babbling. I have to go. I can't get my gloves on, so I'm going to ask you to come and do it._ Luke grinned. _We both know that's a lie. I just want to have another few minutes with you before I leave. And these gloves ARE hard to get on! Although they look great and fierce! Anyway… love you! We're going to rip Sidious apart!_

"Love you," Vader echoed when the holo ended and the image of his smiling son froze. "Luke Skywalker."

Gods, how had he ever considered sacrificing this child, this beam of sunshine and cheer?

"Anakin Skywalker," he said aloud. For the first time in years, it felt right. It felt familiar.

Like it was his name.

# # #

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to [The Truth, Part 11, Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073882/chapters/66105376%E2%80%9D%20rel=)


	11. Parent Incoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This occurs after The Truth Part 11, Chapter 10: Into the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073882/chapters/68800860)
> 
> The Alliance Commanders are approached by an unexpected source who has orders for them. A little crack, a little serious.

“About time you got here.”

“I’m five minutes early.” Arhul Narra dropped into the chair across from the Command Center desk and watched as Boss removed the pod from his ear. “Long night?”

“Is it finally over?” Dreis grumbled. “It’s been one thing after another. Treylarc decided he didn’t need a ladder and fell off his x-wing and broke his leg. One of the new kids decided it would be easier to go into the jungle to take a piss rather than walk all the way to the ‘fresher and got stung by something.”

Narra winced. “Not on his…?”

“Of course. Let’s see, what else? Right— I decided I need a fifth caf and spilled the entire thing on the documents satchel, so you have the honor of trying to read the soggy mess.” Boss gestured to the table. “Get over here.”

“Four minutes,” he reminded.

“You’re not picky about time when it’s on the other end.”

“What else happened?”

Boss stood and stretched. “Two Golds ran into trouble on a supply run, had to shoot their way out. Pirates. They’re becoming quite a—” The Center’s com buzzed and Boss scowled at it. “Dreis.”

“Patching through a call, sir. “It’s a…” —there was a distinct hesitation— “...parent.”

Dreis looked at him. “I will give you ten million credits to take this call.”

“Sure. Show me the money.” Narra grinned. “You still have two minutes.”

“Excuse me,” the Ops ensign interrupted. “He asked specifically for Commander Narra.”

“He’s right here.” It was Boss’s turn to grin evilly. “It’s on you.” He tossed an audiobud to Narra.

He stuck it in his ear, but enabled the speaker just to torture his cohort. There was nothing he hated more than a Parent Call. They had too many young people at the base who had too many anxious, overbearing parents. Or much worse, _grieving_ parents. Thank the stars that no one had died recently. “At least stick around for moral support,” he whispered before clearing his throat and raising his voice. “Narra here.”

“Commander,” a deep voice said with such authority that Narra instinctively stood and straightened to attention. Boss snickered.

“Sir!” he said even though he had no idea who was speaking. He undoubtedly was _supposed_ to know, in which case he couldn’t ask and appear ignorant. The offspring of important people were here— krit, don’t let it be Bail Organa! Hopefully the next words would enlighten him.

They did and didn’t.

“I strongly disapprove of the care you are providing for my son.”

Dreis danced in front of him, pointing to his leg. _I hope you fall over and break it,_ Narra mouthed to him.

“I assure you, sir, that we have the best possible medical practitioners—”

“Yes, yes,” the man snapped. “Naturally I have already ascertained that.”

 _Naturally,_ Boss mouthed back.

Narra choked back a laugh. “Sir, to whom am I—”

“Take me off speaker and link in Commander Dreis. This concerns him also.”

With a resigned sigh, Boss retrieved his discarded earbud. “I’m here. To whom are we—”

“Did I make an error,” the voice overrode his words, “in allowing you to oversee the development and progress of my son?”

What? Narra could think of no response. “I don’t—”

“I believed that you had the balance of a disciplinarian who also guided his charges with intelligence and compassion. Is it possible that I was wrong?”

That was obviously a rhetorical question because the voice sounded like it knew its owner was never mistaken about anything. “I—”

“Narra. Dreis. You are proving less adequate than I expected.”

 _Less adequate?_ Who—? There were a lot of sons here. He and Dreis exchanged a puzzled look. It was an Alliance signal, so who the hell—? “Sir, I don’t know who—”

“I do not object to utilizing my son for simple supply runs because he enjoys flying, but he is certainly capable of carrying out such missions alone— and in fact may be more productive without an audience. Next time, send him unaccompanied. However, and more importantly, Luke must be placed on the Alliance Council. He is more valuable than you have been able to comprehend… which is unfortunate for you.”

Narra sat down suddenly. _Luke?_ “Lord— That is, is this…?” No, he’d seen Vader on the holo, heard his speeches. This voice wasn’t booming and wheezing. This was—

“As I see your ‘Alliance’ still utilizes military titles from the former Republic, I am General Skywalker to you.”

He shook his head and locked eyes with Dreis whose legs gave way. He leaned forward.

“I find myself dismayed by your lack of strength and wisdom. Of the two of you, Commander Narra, I had believed that you showed more promise. Your intuition is strong. You would have made a good Imperial officer… or so I once presumed.”

“I am not— I do not—” He had an absurd impulse to thank Vader for the compliment, then cursed himself silently. But there was something about the man that compelled obedience. And there was something about Luke that made him not want to insult his father.

Or, more to the point, _antagonize_ him.

“Lord—”

“That title is unnecessary. I believe discretion is appropriate to the circumstance in which we find ourselves.”

“What circumstance is that?” Narra bit his lip to prevent addressing the Imperial as ‘sir’.

“Later.” A dismissive wave of a hand was invisible, but nonetheless obvious. “My son is unhappy. When he is unhappy, I am unhappy. He is unfulfilled and frustrated. He has achievements and a promising future that you apparently cannot comprehend. His integrity has been impugned by his fellow pilots.” Vader paused. “I have been unable to impress upon him his importance to the galaxy, and his youth and inexperience have caused him to be reluctant to claim his rightful mantle of authority. You must behave proactively toward him.”

Narra sighed, and Boss met his gaze. “Could you be more specific, sir?” Damnit! He didn’t mean to say ‘sir’!

“I can be as blunt as required to make you understand. Luke has powers that exceed the old Jedi. He is a Child of the Force, highly educated and an excellent strategist— don’t allow his youth and apparent frivolity to fool you. He must be appointed to the Alliance Council.”

Boss bent over like he was in pain, his head buried into crossed arms. His shoulders were shaking, and Narra couldn’t tell if he was raging or crying. “That just isn’t—”

“Of _course_ it’s possible, Commander. Moreover, it’s a necessity if you intend to join me and bring an end to this destructive conflict.”

 _“Join_ you?” Boss finally found his voice. “We have no—”

“When Luke and I destroy Palpatine, someone must unite the military and the entire galaxy with a firm hand. Without question I will fill that role at first, but neither Luke nor I wish to spend the rest of our lives mired in the tedium of bureaucratic nonsense. When Palpatine goes, the vacuum must be filled. Luke will explain further— to your Council.”

Narra stared over the desk at the other commander. “Do you mean— Are you offering—?”

Vader/Skywalker sighed. “Please try to speak in complete sentences, Commander. I am saying that Luke will explain everything to the Council. The longer you delay, the more likely it is that the Emperor will learn of our plan and take countermeasures.”

He knew his mouth was hanging open and Boss mirrored his expression.

“Second issue.”

Great. There’s another. As he’d often heard Luke say, _there’s always one more thing and it’s never little._

“You have my agent in custody. I want him cleared and reinstated in his position in your Command Center.”

Small wonder that Luke talked so fast and so much. Unless you were quick, it was impossible to get a word in. “I— your— Absolutely not!” Boss answered for both of them. “Your spy—”

“My agent is there primarily for Luke’s protection. Seriously, gentlemen, do you believe the removal of a humble clerk will prevent my knowledge of the status of your base? Which, I remind you, exists due to my goodwill and to the presence of my son.”

Narra felt his face heat. He wanted to scream a furious denial, but it was true. “We are not allowing your spy back into this office. Period.”

“Period,” Vader echoed, sounding amused. “So simple, you believe?”

Boss grabbed a sheet of flimsi and scribbled on it: _He’s cutting our balls off._

 _No shit,_ Narra mouthed.

“Unfortunately, Commanders, the matter is not simple. You arrested him because you believe he sent coded transmissions.”

“You should know,” Narra mumbled, hoping he didn’t sound petulant.

“He did not send them to me.” Vader waited for that bit of information to process.

The officers exchanged blank looks that became appalled as they understood. If true, this was much worse than they’d thought. “Then who...?”

“I do not believe _he_ sent any messages. I am confident of his loyalty to me. If someone has infiltrated your Command Center and is sending messages to an unknown person, Luke may be in danger. If he is, your entire base is equally at risk.”

“Who do you think—”

Of _course_ Vader wouldn’t let him finish a sentence! “Possibly the Emperor. Or an Imperial officer who wishes to take my place.” Vader/Skywalker snorted at the impossibility. “Or a Moff, a pirate— such as that scum Xizor— any number of ambitious people. Which is why I want my agent back in the Center. Strange as this will sound to you, Commanders, he can be trusted.”

Boss shook his head. “No—”

Narra raised a hand for him to stop. “Our staff is extremely limited. There’s no one else who could be in contact with anyone outside the Alliance.”

“Ah. As you can’t receive com calls from outside the Alliance?” Vader actually _chuckled._ “Obviously there is a transmitter hidden somewhere.”

“Not possible. We check daily—”

“Invite Luke into the office. He has the ability to detect transmitting devices of all types. As I said, you have no idea of the extent of his talents. Also….” Vader paused. “If anything happens to Luke while he is in your care, I will burn down the galaxy. That is all.”

He stared at the comlink. “Hello? Lord— Sir? Are you…. Did he disconnect us?”

Dreis rubbed his face. “Who did we just talk to?”

Narra pulled out the audiobud and scratched his ear. “How did he… even get through? Our security must be—”

“You think it was really—? We need to talk to Luke and find out what he knows about this…. Did Va— did he say ‘join’?”

“You heard what I heard.” Narra blinked several times and pressed the center of his chest that ached suddenly. “I felt like I was back in the Academy being reamed out.” He started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Boss fumed.

“It’s Luke! His father! Everything! Obi-Wan Kenobi lived next door! The clothes! The holos! The Force! Only part human!” He couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m going insane, I know it. This isn’t normal! None of this is normal!”

Boss sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I feel like we’ve been played from the first day when Luke— no, _Laze Loneozner_ showed up. This has been Vader’s scheme all along.”

“You think so?” Slowly he sobered. “Well… maybe. But so far it doesn’t seem to be to our disadvantage. Quite the contrary.”

“Arhul!” Dreis shook his head. “Vader wants us ‘join’ him? Sounds more like the perfect way to _destroy_ us— from within. And help put him on the throne as Emperor for life.”

Narra raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. He may be on the level. Luke thinks so highly of him.”

Boss tilted his head. “And why should we trust Luke?”

“I don’t know.” Narra shrugged. “But we do, and we need to speak to him. And maybe… let him talk to the Council as he and his father asked.”

“Not _asked._ Demanded. Instructed.” Commander Dreis stood. “We have to talk to Rieekan first. We need to be a united front with Luke, whichever way we decide to go. Although”— he put his fists on his waist and scowled— “I have a feeling you’ve already decided.”

Narra smiled slightly. “So have you.”

“Tonight then. After dinner,” Boss replied shortly. “You know how cranky he gets when he hasn’t eaten.”

“Which one— Rieekan or Luke?” Nothing about the situation was funny. It was life, death, and the future of the people of the galaxy. It was inappropriate to laugh.

But it was impossible not to because otherwise he would scream.

# # #

And so it was that evening when Narra and Dreis entered the barracks, they found Luke asleep on the sofa. The other members of Rogue Squad appeared frozen at the card table, staring at a stuffed yellow fluffy as it floated across the room and landed next to Luke, who lifted one arm and pulled the little puff against his chest without ever waking up.


	12. Baby Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This occurs after The Truth Part 11, Chapter 10: Into the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073882/chapters/68800860)
> 
> When they meditated together, Luke had asked his father what would have happened if he’d been born earlier and was a baby in the Jedi Temple crèche— would Vader have killed him? Vader reassured him by imagining finding his son there and saving him. But like most of us, Luke can’t help fantasizing, and he imagines other ways that his father might have rescued his newly discovered son. So here we are. (Mostly crack, but a little bit of wistful angst if you squint at Luke’s dreams of his father and what might have been)

Luke snuggled under his blanket and pulled the pillow over his head to drown out the sound of the ticking chron. He drifted, dreaming about his dad finding him as a baby.

_“My tiny treasure,” Vader cooed, “my adorable little son who looks exactly like me. You are a precious ray of sunshine in my life—”_

No, that didn’t sound like his dad. Luke tried another way.

_“Lord Vader,” a trooper called, his voice muffled by the sounds of nearby screams. “There’s a Jedi baby trying to escape!” The clone pointed to the baby who was on his stomach and using his elbows to propel himself along the floor at an astonishing rate of speed._

_“Leave it to me!” Vader swung his lightsaber across the cribs. After the shattering sounds of destruction, the screaming babies were silent. And dead. Vader’s face stretched into a feral smile. He reached out with one hand, and the escapee was dragged to him. “I have you now!” he exclaimed in triumph as he squeezed the tiny throat and—_

No, that didn't work. Luke mentally erased the last bit from his mind, but kept the image of newborn Luke being able to escape. Maybe he was a quick learner and could even crawl. Or walk.

Well…maybe not. He started again.

_“Lord Vader, there’s a baby here! It looks remarkably like you! It has your eyes!”_

_“Impossible! Where is it? I thought I had killed them all.”_

_“No, one has miraculously escaped.”_

_“Escaped? Let me see a child so brave and clever that he is able to escape from under my elegant, well-contoured nose.” Vader towered over the baby at his feet. It looked up at him, unafraid. “Impressive,” the Dark Lord noted as he swung his—_

No, not that either. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

_Waaaaah! The other babies were crying. They were scared. Luke felt good, warm, happy. Dry. Someone was picking him up and looking intently at him. “The Force is strong with you, little one. Which is why you must die.”_

Irritated, Luke sat up, plumping the pillow behind him. He could do better than this! Okay, time to get serious.

_Anakin Skywalker, also known by his new title of Darth Vader, sailed into the crèche, his long cape billowing like a spinnaker and sucking up all the drama from the surrounding whirlpool. The younglings were dead except for these tiny ones. He stalked past each crib. Five of them appeared to be as old as one or two years. A few were standing up, clinging to the rails of their cribs, looking at him with huge eyes full of awe and fear. One of them was drooling, others had spit up or soiled themselves. Briefly he considered that he could take them to his Master and they could be turned to serve the Dark Side. He shook his head, dismissing the idea. Inevitably, ambition would drive one or more to come after him as they grew older._

_He held out his right hand. One by one, he snapped each child’s neck. He was merciful, granting them a death much swifter than a slow strangling and not as messy as lightsabering the frantic younglings had been. If those younglings had just held still like he had instructed them—_

_There were two babies, one obviously a newborn. He looked at the older, a Rodian that briefly reminded him of his childhood friend and—_

_He killed it._

_The other, the newborn, had wispy golden hair and a sweet face, with lips like the petals of rosy flowers and cheeks pink with health. Its eyes were closed. With a sigh, Vader pressed his forefinger against the child’s chest. The Force was exceptionally strong in it. If he could keep it, make it his apprentice, ensure its loyalty to him, they could command the Empire together— as he and Padme would if she could forgo her continued insistence of supporting the Republic._

_The babe opened its eyes. They were as blue as the skies above Naboo. There was wonder in its lovely expression when it saw Darth Vader, but more than that— the infant’s gaze was filled with reverence. He didn’t know if it was admiring his power, his height, his spectacular cloak, his boots, his skill with the lightsaber, or the fierce, handsome face he presented. It could be any of those because he was, quite simply and unarguably, remarkable._

_Vader opened the front of the blanket that wrapped around the child and took a closer look. It was a boy and it—_

_It peed straight into his face! Snarling, Vader—_

Stop, stop! That had been going pretty well until the last part. Luke rewound his fantasy.

_It was a boy. A golden-haired, blue-eyed miniature of him. “Where did you come from, little one?”_

_He checked the wrecked cribs. Only one did not have the remains of a small body inside. He found the plate that had been fastened to the slots and blew the debris off it._

_Vader gasped. How could it be? How could this have happened?_

_The plate read:_

_Luke Skywalker_

_Offspring of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker* and Padme Naberrie._

_Legitimacy is doubtful. No matrimonial records._

_*Note: I will find Anakin and kill him. Keep his son alive and out of Sith hands._

_I’ll be back._

_Signed, O-W K._

_Doubtful legitimacy?? Anakin growled at the nerve of Kenobi to dare say such a thing, the traitor! Kenobi was not here at the Temple, so Vader vowed to spend his life tracking him down and—_

Luke sighed. Let’s not get on the Kenobi train. Try again.

_The plate read:_

_Luke Skywalker_

_Offspring of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and Padme Naberrie._

_The bad news: tragically he is at least half an orphan. Hopefully will be total orphan soon._

_The good news: no attachments and no one will look for him._

_“Pah!” Vader snorted. “No one will look for him because I have already found him— my son! The child I will raise and teach. We will play together. I will take him to the beach. I will show him how to ice skate. We will have picnics. We will dress magnificently and be admired by everyone. He has changed my life. We will become powerful Jedi together. Or run away and become pirates— or fight against pirates— and free all slaves— and race in the Galactic Racing Circuit! Our life will be amazing! What have I done to deserve you, my little Luke? For you, I will be better. I will renounce my Sithly ways. We will rule the universe together!”_

_Baby Luke waved his arms, demanding to be picked up, and Vader obliged. “Come, my breathtakingly clever and brilliant son.” Vader— no, Anakin lifted him gently into his arms, carefully cradling his fragile neck so he didn’t break it accidentally. “You are perfect, little one. I will always take care of you. I promise to love you more than anything or almost anyone in the galaxy.”_

_His son smiled at him, his stunningly beautiful blue eyes glowing with adoration. “I wuv you, Daddy!”_

_“Aaah!” Darth Anakin exclaimed. “My son talks already! He is a genius! Padme will be so proud!”_

Uh. Wait. Luke frowned. Where was Padme? He was messing up the timeline too much. But really… so what? This was the perfect ending. They were all three together.

There. Now he could go to sleep.

# # #


	13. A Child of the Force Can Dream Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader has a terrifying dream, and he thinks about Luke and their future. Although mostly he thinks about himself, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it’s yet ANOTHER Interlude to follow Interludes Chapters 11 and 12, all three of which follow [The Truth Part 11, Chapter 10: Into the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073882/chapters/68800860)

_The screams reverberated through his head. The newly anointed Darth Vader sped away from the Temple, struggling to banish the emotions of terror and shock that he’d felt from people who had once been his friends. He needed Padme now, her warmth and reassurance, the maternal glow in her eyes that reminded him of the way his mother had always looked at him even that last time, as she died in his arms._

_He shook off the vision of Padme dying the same way, his name on her lips. That had only been a dream, he would not let it happen. Ever. She was his Angel, infinitely precious._

_She was waiting near the landing pad. He jumped out of the ship and ran to her, taking her in his arms. He held her close—_

_Too closely! He pushed her back at arm’s length. Her body was lean, her abdomen flat. Had the baby been a dream too? No, no— that was impossible!_

_“The baby! Where’s the baby?” He shook her. “Padme, what have you done with the baby?”_

_“It’s all right, Anakin.” She smiled at him. “I had the baby while you were gone today. It’s a boy, and he’s healthy and perfect.”_

_The breath he’d been holding left him in a big sigh of relief. He looked past her. “Where is he? I want to see him!”_

_“He’s fine.” She kept smiling. “Obi-Wan helped deliver him, then he took Luke to the temple where he’d be safe.”_

_He stared. “What? Obi-Wan? What do you mean, Obi-Wan ‘helped’? And he— what? Took Luke— where?”_

_In the distance, across the crowded skyways, the Jedi Temple burned. Couldn’t Padme see it? Hadn’t Obi-Wan seen it? Surely, he hadn’t taken the child there—_

_“He took Luke….” He was a statue, a rigid sculpture that couldn’t breathe or move. The Temple? “What do you mean? Where is….” The Temple? Luke was in the crèche? That was Luke… lying there, looking up at him with huge blue eyes, and he had—_

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Darth Vader jolted awake. His breathing was labored, straining. _It was just a dream,_ he told himself. A nightmare. None of it had happened, though it easily could have.

This was Luke’s personal fear, not his. He closed his eyes. No. They could _not_ share dreams. They simply couldn’t. It was not acceptable. It would be distracting, potentially dangerous, and definitely uncomfortable.

Damn that boy for reaching so deeply into his mind! He wanted to be angry, but… he couldn’t deny the pride he felt for his son’s accomplishments.

He exited his meditation pod. He would find no peace there today. There was work he could do, but he was tired, restless and unfocused. How Luke would laugh at that! _Focus! Use the F-word, Dad!_

Vader shook his head. He felt uncharacteristically unsure of himself after talking to the Rebel commanders. Had he clarified how important, how _vital_ Luke was? Primarily to him, but also to the galaxy. Nothing— _NOTHING_ — could be allowed to happen to his son. Yes. Yes, he had made that clear. They would be more cautious and more respectful. Luke was upset and His.Father.Did.Not.Like.That.

If not for their plot, he would pull Luke from that ungrateful environment. “Pah!” The entire scenario was irritating. Luke should be at his side. Vader moved to his desk and pulled up the latest snaps of his son, taken over the last few days. Luke looked listless— surprisingly unkempt at times, which was inexcusable. Although….

Perhaps the boy needed new clothes. His wardrobe was severely limited in style. Luke had liked the balloon-sleeved shirt that Vader had ordered for himself, and he’d coveted the top of one of Padme’s gowns. Very well, he would have replicas made. One in gray silk, one in blue. Luke needed more blue, without or without gold stars. Perhaps a matching short cape. Possibly with a single star closure. Pants, of course. New boots. A snug-fitting weskit to pull the look together and appeal to the child’s justifiable vanity about his hard-earned physique. Ah, and gold gloves like that absurd ice skater. Yes, that would cheer Luke even if he never wore them. Although he wouldn’t put it past the boy to wear them every day. And as long as he was ordering, maybe he’d get a new cape for himself, too. Blue.

Luke needed to work more intensely with Kodra. The Zabrak had to present fresh challenges. Really, someone more skilled should train Luke— but there was no one more skilled than his father, and their practices would be limited out of necessity. Still, something had to be arranged. And Luke needed to study more. He had to cram a lifetime of knowledge into the next few months. He would need every advantage to face Sidious. Because if they were unable to destroy Palpatine, the Sith had to appreciate the value of Luke. Better that Luke was in Palpatine’s service than dead.

Yet that thought soured in his throat as he tried to swallow it. He never wanted servitude for Luke or for his boy to suffer as he had. Yet wasn’t that better than death? Luke was strong and clever, he could outlast Sidious, perhaps trick him and defeat him in a way Vader had never been able to do.

...Defeat him in a way he had never _wanted_ to try, because what else had he to live for? He’d had only his bondage to his master…until now.

Damn Rebels. He should have told those commanders that his son had no time to work as a mechanic. An occasional supply run to keep up his flying skills— Luke should fly Yahoo as well as an x-wing. Ideally, he should fly every day. It would be convenient if Yavin could be made to revolve slower to add more hours to each day as his son seemed to think was already happening.

Vader opened the shield over the viewport. So many planets full of life, yet without anyone who had the ability to understand him until Luke arrived. No one else knew what it felt like to be Anakin Skywalker. Or Darth Vader. If he allowed himself to be honest, he was no longer certain which was his true identity. Sometimes he felt he could only see himself when he was reflected in the eyes of his child.

No one else could understand how the Force felt, what it was like to always be _aware._ No matter how much Luke tried to avoid it, the Force was growing relentlessly inside him, pushing and pulling in different directions, demanding attention. He was like his father— seeing too much, knowing too much. Feeling so much that denying the feelings was his only refuge. Now, finally, Vader had someone who shared all this in a way that no Jedi— or even Sidious— could. Because the child _was_ him, part of him, joined to him, forever under his protection. Padme would have approved.

A shaft of pain ratcheted through him. _Padme._ Padme hadn’t understood. She had loved him but ultimately denied him and refused to follow. If she hadn’t died in childbirth, if she’d lived— she would have run away and hidden herself and their baby. He would have torn the stars apart to find her— but if she’d kept running and running, he might never have caught her and never found either of them. So in a way it was good… _good_ … that he had choked her after she turned against him.

He closed the shield and leaned back against the wall. Luke would disapprove of such a rationale, but Luke’s disapproval was open and freely given, it didn’t come at a price. Like Padme until the end, Luke separated Vader’s actions from the man. Yes, he knew when Luke hated some things that he did— the boy was very expressive about it— but Luke’s love was steadfast, never faltering. He would never run away as Padme had. Vader could strangle his so-called friends in front of him and Luke would cry or sulk or cut him to pieces with words, but he wouldn’t deny him and his love wouldn’t lessen.

It was true for both of them. Luke didn’t realize the power he had over his father. Luke didn’t see how easily he could break a heart that was so newly mended. Or that he could rip every shred of confidence from Darth Vader. That he could raise his lightsaber against his father and Vader would be helpless to stop a killing thrust.

Because he needed Luke. He needed one person in the universe who understood. He needed….

Anakin sat down, staring at nothing. _Luke needed him the same way._

Of course he knew that, but he hadn’t given it deep thought. Luke must be suffering now, missing him after the strengthening of their bond. The Force stunned Luke in the same way as it had him. The Force would have swallowed the innocent child whole, submerging his personality and forging him into a tool— as it had many of the weaker Jedi. He imagined Luke as a youngster feeling much of what he had felt himself. Understanding that he was different from others, finding ways to explain what he’d accidentally done, learning how to cope with premonitions and the dread that often came with them, and battling the relentless hunger that could only be sated by something unknown that stayed just out of reach, taunting.

Luke was the same as him, but also surprisingly different. Luke’s powers went somewhere else, somewhere that was both soothing and raging. He went to a place where he could dig so deeply into his father’s mind that he frightened Anakin Skywalker and made Darth Vader back away. Luke could be easily distracted, but inside he carried a desperation, a hunger for the connection that Anakin had craved and Vader had always denied... but could deny no longer.

Because now they had each other. He felt a whisper brush across his senses. How often this had happened since their reunion, one of them reached out unconsciously, the other answering. His son was falling asleep again, dreaming away his morning. _Be at peace, little one,_ he told his child. _Be at peace._

He quieted his own thoughts so they would not disturb his boy. Perhaps he could find peace himself, now. For a while.


End file.
